I saw the movie Enchanted. It was enchanting. Lovely. Very Disney. It's the kind of movie that makes me want to jump from a very tall building. Or go out in a row boat on a day when there are "small craft warnings". And this is all because everyone in the movie lives happily ever after. Except the wicked witch, of course. Susan Sarandon played that role with her head held high so the "neck" thing wouldn't happen. She was good. And her neck looked great.
I remember when I was a girl and would go see Cinderella or Snow White or any of those girly movies with the singing birds and friendly squirrels and I wondered even then if that actually happened anywhere in the universe. Where things just turned out oh so wonderful. I could not imagine that. Didn't really like those girly pictures. And right now, at the end of The Year of The Shit, I sort of know by experience that happily ever after land only happens for about one percent of the population. There are no singing birds, no friendly squirrels. Although there is one in my yard that comes by everyday but I think if I gave him a nut he would bite off my finger. But maybe I'm just paranoid. And maybe I'm just being negative. Maybe women are singing and sewing and having a grand old time scrubbing their floors and donning taffeta dresses for dinner and the men are bringing flowers home every night and lovelovelove every meal that is cooked for them and just think she is prettiest thing he's ever seen even though she's getting older and she sweats a lot and can't sleep at night and he spends half the night peeing. But it's happilyeverafterville for them and whistle while you work and life is just one big celebration everyday.
Maybe that is happening somewhere. On Main Street in Springfield. And maybe I just have to look at a map to find out where that is. Maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere. Got off on the wrong offramp. Maybe I will give that squirrel a nut.
Next week I begin the final separation. The prequel to The Big Divorce. I keep thinking about those Siamese Twins they separate. They have to decide who gets the heart, who gets the liver and worst of all, who gets the possibility of a long life. Sometimes they have to decide that. The weaker one usually goes first. I hope I am not the weaker one. I am armed with requests. I know what I want. And in a funny way I'm looking forward to this. I feel like I have one more tube hanging from my body and it has to be cut off right now and that tube is my marriage. The marriage tube. The one that sucked the life right out of me. But I hooked myself up to an IV of "I am not going to let him do this to me" and in a few months I was back to normal, full of the life that was taken away from me with the added bonus of seeing the world through single covered glasses. And I like it. So what could go wrong next week? I've already lost most of my stomach and I can't eat oranges and he hasn't lost anything yet so I feel like I'm ahead of this game. Maybe I'll have it put in writing that he can't eat oranges either. Or garlic. Yeah, that should get him. You're supposed to "get him" when you get divorced, right? You're supposed to rip out his heart and his wallet. Oh, I've got to grow fangs over this weekend. Read books about ruthless women. Buy some high heeled boots.
A crow is laughing at me outside the window. All the crows in the Disney films were always evil. Hmmmm. Maybe it is time to get some taffeta and a ribbon for my hair. Where is that little happy squirrel when I need him?