Second morning in the house…

Everything was fairly typical. I had my coffee on the brew and was putting together the kid’s lunch. I am overwhelmed and was just taking a moment to face it (stare it down, you could say): my emotions, the kid’s emotions, the state of the house, the state of the apartment, trying to make sure that I can stay on top of the Company’s objectives…not to mention the fact that I may have caught a cold and I’m still limping from yesterday’s ankle-twisting drama.


The ex walks down the steps…
He’s ready to go, but looks like he would be happier to crawl back into bed. Yea, I don’t blame him. We’re all taking this pretty hard. We share pleasant morning chat and then he heads to the living room. He stops. He looks around. I watch him. He surveys the view. I wonder what he sees.

I see a room that’s completely demolished. There are toys everywhere, strewn about in a dangerously haphazard way. It’s actually difficult to walk to the couch without stepping on something. There are bookshelves, but only one is being used properly. One is almost empty, its contents in different places around the room; and the other stores DVD’s, electronics and children’s books in a fairly messy fashion. The over-sized chair is stained and the material is torn. The couch is also stained, and there’s only sitting room for one because stuffed animals have claimed the rest of it. The side tables are covered with trash. The carpet is hopelessly dirty, stained and covered in trash and bits of food. It’s hard to even look at the TV since the screen is covered in thick smudges.


He starts walking around.

What are you looking for?

My hat.

He steps around the floor carefully nudging things with his foot. He bends down to pick up something dark: Nope, that’s not it.

He continues to search and I watch him wondering how he feels about living like this…is he really okay with this kind of existence?

Ah, ha! Got it.

He looks up at me with the hat in hand and bangs it against his leg to dust it off. He somehow avoids eye contact while at the same time stares me square in the eyes as if to challenge me to say something…anything. Like he’s looking for a fight. He heads to the couch and turns on the TV.


I turn back to the kitchen to see if my coffee is ready, but can barely see anything for the tears that are pooling in my eyes.