A lifetime ago one of my favorite songs was "One Week" by Barenaked Ladies. And that song popped into my head this afternoon as I realized it has been exactly one week since I told my husband I need a divorce. One week and just a little while since I found out he had been hiding his employment termination for a week. One week since I pulled myself together and got ready to go to work, knowing I was leaving our daughter with him and wondering what would happen when I got home. Which of course was nothing, but I was still stressed. In just a few hours it will be one week since I packed two suitcases, dressed my daughter in her warm fleece coat, got into the car and drove to my parents', never to call the house we've lived in since September 2005 "home" again.
A lot can happen in a week.
I've retained an attorney with my parents' help and have some paperwork to formalize that arrangement. I've changed my daughter's and my addresses with the postal service. I've done a lot of laundry. I've cried a lot. I did bring my daughter back to the house to visit for a few hours on Saturday and cuddled my cats. Which broke my heart. But I did find a home for four of them to go to when I have to move them. Still looking for options for the other five. I've gotten information for my husband on multiple apartments and some job opportunities and let him borrow the car to do some quick shopping on Saturday. I posted a long and hopefully gentle Facebook status on my personal page about the separation and divorce and specifically requested support and job and residential opportunities for my husband. And I called out of work for a week in order to get my head together and take care of my daughter as my parents went out of town for a long weekend.
And now, on the one week anniversary of the separation, I'm snowed in to my parents' house, still in my pajamas, exhausted to my bones and having eaten too much but feeling empty.
I want to sleep for a week.
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