It’s been two and a half years since I separated from my ex-husband, two years since I had a bit of a nervous breakdown (which some readers may recall!) and to say that I am happier now is a laughable understatement. My life is so much better now that I lack adequate vocabulary to describe it.
Still, I have to wonder how long it’s going to be before I stop having nightmares where I’m yelling at my ex. (This last one was particularly obnoxious, because I was sleeping with my mouth open and my tongue had dried out, so in my dream, my mouth was full of something–cookie dough, I think–and I was trying to scrape it out, while yelling into the phone. The tactile vividness of the dream was almost as bad as the emotional content.)
I guess it’s really not that long in the grand scheme of things–it blows my mind a little that it was ONLY two years, it seems like something that happened so long ago, in another country in another language under another sun–but it throws my whole day a little off-kilter when it happens, and I spend the morning grumping around trying to get back.
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