A day late and a dollar short? Not so much

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Saturday Spotlight:There is always so much drama around this site. People jockeying for attention through a variable of different means. Some people develop a shtick and stick with it, whether that is being a clown, a pseudo sociologist or an a*shole. In the end, we all make a bunch of ruckus in the attempt to be the loudest voice heard. When Marianne first came to me and asked to be considered for the Saturday Spotlight, I instantly liked her writing but thought it might be too quiet for my readers. I bookmarked her as a favorite and checked back. I don't know if it's just because of all that has gone on over this past week, but quiet is something that I need right now and something I think you all might appreciate as well. "A day late and a dollar short? Not so much." So, after several social obligations this evening, I find myself at home with a beautiful glass of brandy, listening to the Simpsons and eating moderate leftovers. (*Hi, coworker(s)! Yes, I'm human, don't hold it against me.) My cat brushes up against me, seeking attention that I can not give because I am writing. Be patient, little cat, I will love you in a minute. I think it is that same attitude that is the reason I am divorced. "Be patient, little spouse, I will love you in a minute."Any of you who know my ex will immediately recognize what a ridiculous statement that is. My ex is anything but little. He's a 6'3" Norweigan built like a blacksmith. He hefted steel iron bathtubs over his shoulder when we worked at the home improvement store, back in the day. A decade ago, in the American Gladiator days, the running joke with with him was: "Mr. Bjelke, put the atlasphere. . . down."I grew weary of his displays of strength, through the years. As much as we are still friends today, I know there is no comfort in returning to sharing his space. That may be why I blog more on MySpace than on LiveJournal, where he and his current girlfriend read that blog. Who wants to deal with that?His strength wasn't always shown in brute force (no, it was never an abusive relationship.) It was controlling. When I tried to start a project: building shelves, grouting tile, rewiring a fixture. . . his first instinct was to take the project out of my hands and finish it for me. He was "doing me a favor."Now, some women may dig that. "Save me." "Do the man stuff." "Let me feel like a queen."I admit to liking that to a point. I still do. To a point. Unfortunately, I have been trained by those 13 years with my ex-spouse to be hesitant to hand a project over to another. In fact, if there is one single thing I can pinpoint my decision to divorce on, it is this: don't take a project out of my hands. Over the years with John, I started to lose the talents to finish projects. I forgot how to use a screwdriver, for Bacchus' sake. I forgot what it was like to decide to build something, and work through its challenges until the project manifested in reality. I never had the chance, and I am a kinesthetic learner. Exception: I painted tiles. I should like to return to doing that, soon. Does this make sense? Maybe not. It makes sense to me. My one-time best friend and former spouse ended up weakening me with the same force with which he strengthened me in the beginning of our interaction. I don't think I've ever scribed this before. It's about time. And I don't think I've ever forgiven him. It's about time for that, too. This blog comes 3 years too late.