On death and divorce and feeling defeated.

I am of a certain age. My contemporaries are in two stages of life:

They are either finally getting married after spending their 20's footloose and fancy free, up until their biological clock became truly deafening and/or the dating pool thinned so far as to leave them aground, gasping for air like the goldfish that keeps throwing herself out of her goldfish bowl onto my kitchen counter.

Alternatively - and as is the case more often - my friends got married young, did some breeding, and now find themselves parenting and driving carpool and paying the bills, all while looking around thinking "What the hell just happened?" and "So, um, am I middle-aged yet, or what?"  A lot of us are splitting up or trying to avoid divorce, getting fat or trying desperately to lose weight, coloring our hair or going gray. Our parents are starting to get older, people around us (including spouses and friends) are dying, the world is a fucking mess and we don't know how to fix it, and frankly, it's just not a whole lot of fun up in here.

As my friend Jen said on facebook last week - "I preferred the weddings and babies stage much more than the death and divorce stage." True that.

I am tired these days, not sleepy, although there is that....but weary. It's seems like it is all bad news these days, and I have reached my maximum capacity for shock and grief and dismay. Last week, we got yet another call letting us know that yet another set of beloved old friends were suddenly involved in a divorce - it was messy, and accusations were flying. My husband came in to tell me - stunned. He didn't see it coming. I didn't expect it, but it was just the latest in a long list of surprises lately.

"We're okay, right?" he asked, as he leaned against the kitchen counter watching me.
I stopped loading the dishwasher and straightened up.
I looked him in the eyes and sighed. "Of course we are. We are more than okay. We're solid."

"I love you." he reminded me.

"I know." I replied. "Just don't fuck anybody."

"I'm not." he reassured me.
"I know."

He leaned forward, grinning "Just yo-"
"I KNOW WHO YOU'RE FUCKING."

"I just wanted to be clear. You and only you."

"Dude, you don't have time to fuck anyone else."

"Well, there's that." he reached for a stack of bills.

I went back to loading the dishwasher. Then I stopped, took off my pants, and threw them at him.
And I returned to the dishes in my thong.

"Hey, thanks for that." he leaned over the counter for a better look.
"Just keeping the home fires burning, there, dude."