Since the last post, I received a Tweet from a lady asking whether it was cruel and insensitive of me to crow about the sex I'm having, when my ex is still in love with me.
I didn't respond to her. Partly because her comment suddenly made me feel ashamed of what I was doing. Partly because I now questioned whether I was right in thinking my ex is still in love with me (perhaps he just hates me, full stop?). Partly because I thought 'fuck off!'- but didn't know how to phrase it politely in 140 characters.
But thinking about it, she's right. I don't want people to think I'm a right noob, slagging off my ex and showing off about what a jolly time I'm having. I hope that I give a balanced view of what life is like, post divorce, but perhaps I don't. Maybe I need to tone down the sunny bits and up the drudge; the trips to the dentists with the kids, the endless skull-gripping headaches, the money worries...
The truth is though, that I AM generally happier now I'm separated. But for you to see that, I need to talk a little bit about how life was before.
So here's an attempt to explain.
When I married my husband 14 years ago, I was full of the joys. This was going to work. I was under no illusions; my husband was intelligent, tall, had good prospects, sane. He worked with numbers. He would produce good children. He reminded me (not in a freaky way) of my Dad. It was what I wanted.
We had two children lickety split and everything was still fine. I gave up work and we moved away from London. I found it hard. I was not a great stay-at-home mum. I loved my children but something by this stage that I couldn't pinpoint was making me unhappy. Back then, I thought it was because I was a crap mother - but actually it was because I was unhappy in my marriage. (I may also have been a crap mother - something to explore another time.)
My marriage was becoming a 1950s stereotype. My husband would expect his food on the table when he got home from work. I was doing all the household chores and managing the children. This, you might think, is fair when I wasn't working. But when I did start work again and I still had to do everything, despite endless discussions and complaints, I became more and more unhappy. Sort of...flat.
The other big deal was that my husband would hide behind me if there was anything slightly brave to be done. I don't mean jump out of a plane; I just mean talking to someone new, or having a go at being understood in a different country, or even just talking to and paying the flipping babysitter. As we are both introverts, this was a big deal to me.
I would ask him or tell him things, important things, which he would promptly forget. In the end I stopped talking to him. We never argued; our relationship was one of silence.
At other times he was controlling and cold. I lost respect for him over the years, and fell out of love. We had little, and then no, sex. I became depressed and so, I believe, did he.
So when it eventually became too much and I called time, I was looking forward to a new life of adventure and new beginnings and - yes - sex with someone who had some fire in their belly.
I sometimes look back and wonder why on earth we got married. But then I catch sight of our kids and I remember.