Wheelbarrows Of Documentation

I did a lot of cathartic writing after my husband disappeared. Yada, yada, yada … you know, that whole ‘get your thoughts on paper so you can start dealing with them‘ drill that everyone advises you to participate in.

Textbook Psychology 101

This has to be the first thing they teach wanna-be psychologists and counselors in their training programs, because before I lost my health insurance, EVERYONE I talked to, instructed me to write. So write, I did!

I wrote about everything that happened. I wrote about everything ‘those people’ had done to me. And like a dutiful court reporter, I meticulously memorialized how nasty all of ‘those people‘ had been to me.

A Veritable PhD In Taxonomy

As a result, my original essays ended up being serious contemplative tomes, interspersed with dates and time stamps for the myriad injustices that had been done. Like the always-organized medical office administrator I was, I catalogued years of occurrences and conversations, coding them to the highest level of specificity—to the fourth and fifth digit.

My essays were more like legal documentation for an upcoming deposition rather than the fun stream of consciousness parodies they would later become. I still get embarrassed just thinking back on my first iterations. Good boogly-woogly! I had to repent over some of the things I said about people in those scorchers! LOL

Time Passages

Then, as time rolled on and the calendar pages flipped faster and faster, my focus began to change from ‘those people‘ to me. I began to look within to identify and correct the things that were amiss within me that caused me care about what ‘those people‘ thought about me in the first place.

The more intensely I navel-gazed, the more apparent it became that ‘I’, indeed, had been a schmuck … ‘I’ had been the one to abdicate my own agency … ‘I’ had been the one to exacerbate so much of my own pain.

Most notably, ‘I’ had been an idiot in that I internalized the very crazy notion that my husband’s character deficit [and his desire to escape real life to flit off and live a fantasy with someone he dated in high school] was somehow due to a a fatal flaw in ME. It wasn’t.

What’s worse, for several years I viewed whatever flaw that caused my husband not to love me, as something I needed to slink away from and hide in shame about. [Insert the sound of a loud annoying buzzer here.] WRONG AGAIN! Runaway Romeo’s choices and behavior defined him and him alone—NOT me. You’d think I’d get that, as that is stating the obvious, but when you’ve been boiled in the water by believing the rhetoric of a character disordered, you turn over your mind and opinions to them. It was wonderful in that I finally had that long overdue ‘aha!’ moment. [Duh! It took me long enough!]

Suddenly The Music Starts, The Clouds Part, And The Angel Sing

Nah … it wasn’t like that. In my case, it was more like the imps got together, held hands, danced around in a circle, and had a raucous laugh at my expense. Despite all the imps and the activity they had going on, and despite how embarrassed I was over all the time and energy I wasted on What’s-His-Face—I still had a marvelous epiphany. Suddenly, I saw it!

Apparently MY life’s purpose was to be a very public example of what NOT do when one becomes entangled in a dance macabre with a wing-nut and a bunch of affiliated dingbats. LOL.

I Know My Truth … Verified By Dr. Google

Yeah, well, we all get chumped at some point in our lives, don’t we? I just seem to have done it a little more publicly than most, I suppose. As a matter of fact, I can prove it to you. Grab your nearest dictionary. Better yet, cut to the chase and simply open up a browser and type in the word ‘Chump’ …  See? … Right there … That’s me … That’s my picture.

Oy vey! I may have a bit of egg on my face but I have resolved to go forward nonetheless. I will rise to the occasion, hold my head up high, and remain faithful to fulfilling my calling. Smile.

Yes, indeed. I accept that my life’s purpose is to be a mid-life poster child for how to take something that should only have been a transient insult to the ego—and through stupidity—parlay it into a life-altering, career-ending, multi-year ‘Ordeal’. [The crown roars with applause.]

Moving Forward

Well, after experiencing such a glorious revelation, it became apparent to me that in order to turn my Titanic around, I was gonna need some extra terrestrial help. I surveyed the circumstances  and my surroundings … The clouds had already parted … The music had already started … Hmmm [rubbing my chin] ….. Something was still missing … What was it?

It was raining lightly as I glanced down at my watch. Tapping my foot impatiently I looked around and asked: “Okay, I see the imps and they’ve had their fun … Now, where are all my angels?!”



I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels
I won’t give up if You don’t give up, I won’t give up if You don’t give up
I won’t give up if You don’t give up, I won’t give up if You don’t give up

I need a sign to let me know you’re here
Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear
I want a reason for the way things have to be
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

And I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels

When children have to play inside so they don’t disappear
Where private eyes solve marriage lies cause we don’t talk for years
And football teams are kissing Queens
And losing sight of having dreams
In a world that what we want is only what we want until it’s ours

I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels

Songwriters: Charles Colin / Charlie Colin / James Stafford / James W Stafford / Pat Monahan / Scott Underwood / Scott Michael Underwood

Calling All Angels lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC