The Slow Goodbye

Even if you’ve come to the point where you know it’s what you want, where you know it’s for the best, divorce is like having someone slice and dice your heart into hundreds of pieces and you don’t even know how to begin putting it all back together.

And if the process of separation and divorce is dragged out it’s like someone put all those pieces through a juicer.

For as much as I’ve moved around in my adult life, having an anchor has been important to me. Essential, really. When I know change is coming down the line I’m unsettled, unfocused, anxious. It seems like a weird contradiction, because I am fairly adventurous, but I don’t like change and uncertainty.

Right now, half my life is in boxes. This house has been my home for four years, and the Calgary area has been my home for nine of the past eleven years. I’ve lived in Canyon Meadows, in Cedarbrae, in Braeside, in Mayland Heights, in… whatever you call that part of the NW where Northmount and 14th intersect.

For the past few months I’ve felt like everything was spinning out of control.

And I’ve been routinely reminded that it’s the people you think you’re closest to who hurt you the most. Perhaps because we love them so much they have that power over us.

I do feel as though I don’t want to blog much anymore. My emotions have been bubbling too close to the surface for too long, even for me. One thing this blog has always tried to be is an honest reflection of my thoughts and feelings and I don’t regret that. But last week, as I prepared to launch something new intended to profile authors and then felt someone twist the knife in my back I was left wondering why I’m doing any of this.

I’m finalizing things to move Spinetingler, and At Central Booking, to their new homes. The doors have been thrown wide open for me, and there’s a distinct possibility that I’ll be editing a print publication next year.

Which all sounds good, but I still want to fast forward, past all this stress, and just find myself five months down the road, in my new home, feeling like I finally have solid ground beneath me.

Of course, I’m not the only one coping with moving stress.

So if you’re looking for any version of a rational me, you might want to check back mid summer.



“Maybe soon there'll come a day
When no more tears will fall
If we each forgive a little bit
And we both look back on it
As just bad timing that's all”