My ex texted me today about some random shit, and managed to let me know that he has had sex with a total of 26 people in his lifetime (25 since me, as I was the first). I ignored his text because:

  1. I don’t care.
  2. Gross.
  3. Nobody is impressed, my dude.

*insert eyeroll emoji*

I did get a good laugh, however, when I thought about the fact that, soon after our separation, he started referring to me (to anyone who would listen) as an “epic whore.”

My number is way lower than his. Who’s the epic whore now, motherfucker?

I got a sad text from my ex about wanting a pic of Jackson in his suit but without the rest of us in the pic. It wasn’t rude or anything. He was apologetic about it and indicated that he’s not emotionally ready to see the four of us together, especially under these circumstances, but that he really wants to see Jackson. I get it. But now I’m sort of bummed. This is the only part of our situation that I hate. He’s hurting. She probably is too. 

I made my bed a long time ago though, and now I’ve gotta lie in it. I’m happy to do so, and I wouldn’t change it, but I’m human so I do empathize with how they must be feeling as this weekend approaches. 

final countdown

Something has slowly dawned on me over the last couple of days:

I was never this excited about my first wedding. 

Let me explain. 

The thought first occurred to me on Thursday while D and I were getting our marriage license. Even spending an entire morning doing government paperwork was fun with him. We laughed. I cried happy tears when we took the oath. We both took pics and shared our happiness on social media. It felt easy and fun…special. Afterwards, we went to lunch at one of our favorite places and gushed to each other about how happy and excited we were. 

When my ex and I went to get our marriage license, he complained all morning, made us late because he insisted on going to the bookstore first, and kept telling me stories about random strippers he had encountered in Las Vegas. He bitched and moaned about everything he possibly could and generally just acted like an ass. Even our friends were embarrassed by his behavior. We ended up getting into a huge fight and I remember pushing all kinds of bad thoughts to the back of my mind, thinking: just get it done. 

It occurred to me again yesterday, after receiving and freaking out over photos of my wedding shoes, just how much more into this wedding I am. When D got home, I squealed, showing him the pics while doing a happy dance, and he didn’t make me feel stupid about it. He didn’t trivialize my excitement or turn the moment into something about him. It may seem insignificant, but I promise you that it is not to me. 

This realization has made me a bit sad. I feel guilty. I feel like these feelings trivialize a 15 year relationship, which isn’t my intention at all. Additionally, I’m not saying I wasn’t happy on my last wedding day, because I was. Of course I was. However, it’s impossible to ignore the stark contrast, and I guess I just needed to get it out so that I can accept the feelings for what they are and move on from it. Because in a way I’m putting that relationship to bed, finally. The mourning period is finally coming to an end. What is done is done and it’s time to let it go. In seven days, I will marry the love of my life, and I have nothing to feel guilty about. This is exactly the way it should feel. I deserve this. 

I’m so fucking happy. 

One week! 

So this happened…

My ex came out while I was waiting for Jackson to get off the bus. Later, they were talking and Jackson mentioned how white his dad’s beard has gotten, to which the ex replied: 

Yeah I tell people how your mom made all my hair fall out and then another girl I loved made the beard turn white. Women! What can you do? 

Me: 😐😐😐 Okay let’s go…