Distance = Rate x Time

There have been many years since the end of my meager marriage that I didn’t even notice the anniversary date pass. This is not one of those years. I’m not sure if that is what has me in a mood today (and yesterday, and all of last week) or what. It’s not that I have regrets. No, actually, I do have regrets. Of course I wish that it had been a happy marriage and neither of us had to go through a divorce, but life is better for me now than it was then, and I have to assume it is better for my ex. We didn’t bring out the best in each other, and I am pretty sure that sucked for him, too.

It would have been eight years today. Sort of. The forged date on the marriage license was 7/22. Our marriage was never really legal, due to me getting stuck in traffic on 95 on the last afternoon I could pick up the marriage license with enough time for the three day waiting period. In theory, we could have had it annulled, or maybe even just split without divorcing, but in reality, I made the decision that it would be easier for my father to live with shelling out $25,000 for a wedding that only stuck for seventeen months, than to live with shelling out $25,000 for a wedding that wasn’t even legal thanks to his greatest nemesis, interstate 95. Oh, and also, technically speaking, we would have committed tax fraud. Shit. Hi, IRS!

I digress. Divorcing sucked, but my life is awesome now. I’m in the best shape of my life (despite feeling like I gained five pounds in the past two days), I know some stuff, I finally got the guts to cut my hair short, I’ve done lots of things I always wanted to do, and I have lots more things that I want to do with plenty of opportunities ahead of me.

Given all of this, why is it that for the past week I have had absolutely no motivation to write, work, go to yoga, walk, or do anything other than sit on the couch watching episodes of Buffy and eating (soy) ice cream? In fact, I’m going to sit here and watch another episode right now.

That was fun.

Anyway, time, lots of it, passing. Weekends fly by, but it doesn’t bother me because I know I will wake up on Monday morning, blink, and it will be Friday again. Blink again, another month. Blink again, a season passes. Then a year. Does time slow down when I stop doing stuff? Every Tuesday lately, I get this urge to misbehave. Does it slow down time? I don’t know. Blink, and another Tuesday is almost over.