There has been no more news. My daughter does not talk about what happens with her father. When I call to speak to her, which was negotiated and agreed to in the final order, I am told she is not there by her grandmother and they do not answer my calls at my ex's house. The house is still up for sale, overpriced, I should think.
Meanwhile, I've been taking French lessons, which give me a headache. I feel strained by the effort to communicate in a language I haven't used since I was eight years old. I should be talking French with E, but we invariably switch back to English because it is easier. Meanwhile, my fellow students all stumble along in class with their terrible accents, feeling no shame in them or their mistakes, and I realize that success depends on confidence and wish I had some.
The good news is that I'll be assisting a friend of mine direct a play this summer, which is something I'm really looking forward to after years of putting my theatre interests on hold. We met yesterday to discuss it and I'm excited to start something new and move beyond the stranglehold of this situation with my ex.
E is in Waterloo for a conference this week. I'll have a blessed night alone with him when he returns. I crave these islands of calm admist our attempts to successfully blend families. Invariably, I waver in my decision to move in with him . . . and I may never, considering how hard stepmothers have it. It may just be easier to maintain my quiet little home with A and visit E frequently. Even seeing my ex's relationship flounder scares me, although I know there is good reason for his failure.
In general these rainy days slow the pace of my life down. There is no incentive to be moving too fast. The grass grows and grows, but my garden waits for sun.
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