"Now, I'm his ghost. That's not difficult. It's unbearable. I know everyone is proud of him, but I am not. And I do not wish him well." -- Christina Yang, Grey's Anatomy

Confessions of a Homeless Housewife

While I was opening my fourth baking-related gift of the day on Christmas, my mother said, "Who would have ever thought that Kaitlin would grow up to be so domestic?"

The answer to that is : nobody.

I was the type who wasn't going to get married until I was 35. I hated dresses, I despised wearing white because I was a notoriously messy child, and "helping" with dinner was simply a clever ruse to hide my taste-testing everything in sight.

But I got married at 19. I started cooking, and actually enjoying it. I sew for fun (heck, I have my own machine and dress dummy) and I would rather be home alone baking on a Saturday night than out at the movies.

Oh, and I wear SKIRTS now!  And SUNDRESSES!  When did THAT happen?!

But the sad truth is, now that I enjoy all these domestic pursuits so much more than I ever thought I would, who do I have to share them with?  I get in the mood to make something, and lose my motivation halfway through, because what's the point?  I'm a nomad.  I haven't lived in the same place for more than a year in 5 years.  Anything I make, I'll just have to find a place for in the already crowded apartment.  The kitchen is small, and every time I go on a baking spree I take up two whole rooms, and get in everyone's way.  When I make dinner, I make enough to feed a small army, and most of it simply goes to waste.

What happened to me?

And what do you do with yourself when you're a homeless housewife?

"When nothing goes right ... go left."

When I got married, my whole life was set out before me.  School, children, the whole package.  It was a simple enough plan, and I was happy with it.

When my marriage ended, the plan changed.  Now, my goal was simply to be happy again.  After that, when my mom got sick, things started unraveling faster than I could keep up.  Nothing was stable, nothing was sure, and I've never been the type to handle change very well.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that Disney saved me.  It gave me a series of simple goals, things I could handle: Survive the College Program.  Find a place to live once it was finished.  Keep my job.  Make magic.  And I am grateful for it every single day.

But even here, things change.  Disney is sometimes the only thing that is stable.  Housing situations change.  Financial problems arise. Hearts are broken, opportunities missed, and it's far too easy to drown in the panic that comes with knowing how close you are to falling apart.

But I haven't fallen apart.  Not yet.  Because something happened shortly after I moved down here, a little more than a year ago : I finally started becoming the person I always wanted to be.  Someone who could handle change.  Someone who could bounce back.  A fighter.  A survivor.

I've been through more in the last two years than most women my age have to cope with in a decade.  And I'm at peace with it.  All of it.  I want to be the type who can fight through the hard times and come out on the other side a stronger person.  I want to have the courage to follow new paths.  When nothing goes right ... I want to be brave enough to go left.

di.vorce (n)

1) the legal dissolution of a marriage
2) a complete or radical severance of closely connected things

Changing your name. Changing your Facebook relationship status. Referring to yourself as "divorced" instead of "in the middle of a divorce..."  Just another day in the life of your average 22-year-old divorcee.  The adjustment isn't as hard as I thought it would be.  In fact, it's just one less thing I have hanging over my head at the moment, which is a relief.  Something in my life is finally resolved.

And now, it's time to pick up the pieces of my life and move on. But here's the thing : which pieces are actually me, and which pieces are just the circumstances of my life ... things I can just leave behind now?  Brayden and I discussed this once, about how he wondered if he wanted to be a doctor, of if we wanted him to be a doctor. In the end, he decided that it was truly something he wanted, and that was a piece of our marriage he took with him. So which pieces do I take?

Not quite sure where to start ...

Weak

I don't like crying. It makes me feel weak. I don't like to cry, or wallow, or miss people ... but somehow I got caught in this weird cycle today, and I started missing somebody. A good friend who I don't really talk to anymore. (Who will not read this, I guarantee it.)

I didn't mean to start missing him. I've spent a very long time lately trying not to miss him, in fact. He was my first friend here in Orlando. Someone who was always there for me when I just needed to talk. Someone who managed to always make me forget all of the pain that I was going through. And when we stopped talking awhile back, I told myself that I'd built up the friendship as something more important than it really was. Just a reaction to the new environment, just someone to fill the time.

But tonight I was reading through past conversations looking for a quote, or a piece of advice he'd given me once ... can't really remember now. Either way, I suddenly realized that I have every reason to miss him. And I want to fix things so badly it hurts.

And from there, I got sucked into an even bigger cycle of missing everybody that I've lost recently. From school friends that I feel like I abandoned to the husband that I'm about to be completely and legally separated from forever. His family, who I love and miss. Even my college program roommates, who I feel like I lost any and all connection with while I was in the show back in April. By the end of all this, I somehow ended up desperately missing every one of my high school friends and wishing I was a Senior again.

Why is that? Why are these connections so important to us as a species, and how can it be so painful when they only go one way? I don't understand.

I don't understand how things that seem so right can suddenly go so wrong.  How love fades. Trust dwindles. People drift apart.  And I don't understand how I ended up here.

But I know that I don't like feeling weak. And I don't know what to do about it. Because the truth is, I don't make friends very easily. And I don't take it very well when they're gone.  The friends I have now? They're amazing, and I love them. But I just know something will happen, and they won't be around forever. I'm scared of losing them.

And fear makes you weak.

Yup, I'm in trouble.

Normal

At 22, most people are only just starting to think about marriage, rather than just getting out of one. In college, you're supposed to be a little bit immature. A little irresponsible, staying up too late and going out and partying ... that's what I've been told, anyway. That's what I'm surrounded by day after day. And while I'm not really a partying kinda girl, there are times when I envy the "dancing through life" mentality.

Your average 22-year-old isn't spending their day off on the phone with lawyers. Or paying off the balance on their couple's counseling bill. Or worrying about taking care of loved ones. And I don't mind doing it, any of it. This is just another piece of my puzzle, a chapter in my story. And if I feel a little out of place sometimes, I just remind myself that this puts me ahead of the game. I can be responsible, I can be mature, I can handle things.

But tonight, for one night, I get to forget about all of it. Magic Kingdom is going to be open for 24 hours today, in honor of Leap Day. And so, from 11 PM to about 5 AM tomorrow morning, I am going to party. For one night, the most important thing in life is living, and living it up. For just one night, I am bound and determined to be normal.

The Waiting Place

"Waiting for the fish to bite, or waiting for the wind to fly a kite, or waiting around for a Friday night. Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake. Or a pot to boil. Or a better break. Or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants, or a wig with curls, or another chance"

Oh, the Places You'll Go

I have never been a patient person. I do not know the meaning of "take it slow." I leap without looking and push myself so hard that I often make myself sick. I don't slow down, and I don't give up.

Sometimes, this works to my advantage. It has helped fuel a strong work ethic, and it helped me try to keep my marriage together even when I wanted nothing more than to escape. Granted, the marriage ended in its own time anyway, but I still fought when so many others would have given up.

But now ... now I'm stuck in that Waiting Place. I cannot help speed my mother's treatments along. I don't know how long they'll take, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I have come to accept the fact that I have to let some things go. I have to breathe, and pray, and let things happen when they will. However, my excess impatient energy seems to have re-focused itself in other areas of my life.

I am no longer content with "someday." My mother had so many "somedays," and now her whole life has shifted. I had "somedays." I had a whole future planned, and now ... well, now my future is a blank canvas. An empty page. There are possibilities and dreams and the crippling fear of failure. My life is now, not someday.