Well, apparently that last little magical thing I’d kept stored in my heart turned out to be an illusion, too.

Now I’m completely disillusioned, which was the whole point of this blog. After a rough few weeks, I’m finally ready to move on.

I’m done with feeling sorry for myself for any of the hurts, including the disguised one of “I’m done since I obviously can’t trust myself to only trust the trustworthy” that tries to pass itself off as a lesson learned.

I am feeling very free and full of energy. I am an open person who enjoys being that way. If I get hurt again, so what.

I’m bored with the analyzing and energized by my spring plans of planting vegetables, herbs and flowers.

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That’s the bad news. The good news is that this means I’ll live until 121.

I’ve stopped. The blur of the last five years is winding down.

I’m in a place ripe for planting a new life. But I’m like the North Carolina farmer who wants to continue planting tobacco even though nobody wants to smoke it.

I’m a homebody with a daughter who is balancing needing me, trying to find her own way, and rejecting me for all her problems. I am there for her, but it feels like I’m hugging a cactus. Besides, the ultimate goal is that she, like any kid, become an independent person. When you’re widowed, divorced, or both (as in my case), where does that leave you when you’re wired as homemaker? I enjoy making a home for myself, so I guess I’m not really a homebody for nobody, but I’m feeling an aching hole.

I’ve begun looking into volunteering. I think that would help me as well as others, but then you always hear how family is what really counts in life. So if you’re rejected by a spouse due to death or divorce, and your kids are supposed to be independent from you, is that really true that family is the most important thing? Aren’t we all destined to end up alone? Or am I “supposed to” remarry just to get a family? I don’t feel like it.

I know I’m “supposed to” get with people with similar interests. I am making attempts to connect over and above going to work every day. I get it. I’m doing it.

It’s just that my homemaker job turned out to be a temp position, and I’m pissed and upset with the layoff.

After you land, you think about the trip and gather what you have. Then you stand there waiting to walk through the portal.

Figuring out what happened to me will not happen talking with family and friends. It will not happen in a therapist’s office. They will all give me the hints and ideas and truths and non-truths from other perspectives. That’s it.

I was the one in the marriage. I could just walk through the portal. But I need to pause first.

This is what really happened. I know because I was there and because I want to be honest and face it.

Today I will face the tough part. Today I will face my role:

I was myself in the marriage, but not completely. This wasn’t honest. I was the part of myself that is endearing. The confrontational part was always finessed during confrontations because of my fear of being rejected. This was a well-founded fear, because when I finally did confront directly, I was rejected permanently.

Since an incident in October of 2008, I’ve gone through separation, family therapy, therapy with what became left of the family, pouring my thoughts onto paper, pouring my thoughts into cyberspace, lawyers, divorce, realtors, job interviews, moving companies…

I love where I’ve landed.

The visual of my experience is no longer the streaks from motion. I’ve stopped and things look different now.

I am starting to see through the eyes of a realistic woman. I am not a cynical woman. I am a woman who wanted to see magic and who got hurt by that.

I am a woman who knows that the world is already magical, and that it is best experienced while looking through clear lenses.

Yesterday I was in the waiting room of my doctor’s office waiting to get the physical I need before I begin my phlebotomy class. A half-hour before I left home, I’d received a call about the annuity from my late-ex’s (I guess I’ll start referring to him as my latex) estate for which I am listed as the beneficiary. I had been assured I would receive it; it would have paid for our daughter’s health insurance. To make a long story short, I was told I will not get the annuity.

Like the unemployment benefits situation, I was promised what would have really been a help to us.

Let’s Make a Deal is on the TV in the waiting room. As Curtain #2 opens, a woman dressed like a Christmas festivity sees headlights. She claps her hands in delight. No, it’s not a good prize, says Wayne Brady, as someone drives offstage with only the front half of a “Zonk” car.

I feel ya, lady.

But I decided I was not about to let the Universe f**k me again. I went in there and told the nurse I was stressed. When she cuffed the blood pressure monitor on my arm, I told her I was going to breathe deeply.

94/62.

Take that, Universe!

Since the fact that anyone would ever look at me with such love could only be attributed to magic, couldn’t magic make it possible for him to finally see the light?

After he died in January, the odds went from one in impossible to one in impossible minus magic.

And then there was the financial effect of being discarded.

But the Universe is kind, right? If life’s unfair in one arena, it will give you a gift in another.

I didn’t think I would collect unemployment benefits. Imagine what a burden was lifted off of me when I found out that I was eligible! A little help for my daughter and me until I can finish my phlebotomy course and get a job that would actually support us. See what happens when you trust the Universe—two weeks of benefits in my checking account as of Wednesday!

But then—a notice that there’s a problem. I call. I am not eligible. They made an error.

No, I made an error, I say to myself. I trusted.

I am crying, eating the whole tub of wasabi peas. I watch low-quality TV and eat most of the half-gallon of ice cream myself. That will show you, f**king Universe!

Speaking of low-quality TV, says the Universe, I don’t work like Let’s Make a Deal. Grow the f**k up.

This is what happens when you eat ice cream and wasabi peas during the same low-quality program—you hallucinate the Universe cussing you back.

You know what’s wrong with me? See if it’s what’s wrong with you, too.

We expect certain things. They don’t happen in the way we’d expect, since the odds of that would be one in impossible. We’re disappointed. But we don’t want to admit we’re unhappy. So we dump glitter on everything and talk ourselves into the decision that Life is great and that we’re happy.

But then you run out of the energy it takes to keep that up. I did last night.

I was happy last Sunday night. On Monday morning, I became happier because someone at Unemployment told me I was eligible for benefits, and that the amount would be determined—she hoped—by the end of the week. So last night, when the amount still wasn’t determined and they will all be closed on Monday whooping it up in their powdered wigs and stovepipe hats, I became unhappy. When I coupled that with the fact that the application for the annuity to cover my daughter’s health insurance premiums gets more complicated with every new phone call, I became more unhappy.

I’d planned on attending last night’s book club meeting, but when it came time to go, I didn’t want to discuss a book about spiritual ideas because I was pissed at spiritual ideas. I just wanted to be happy, dammit. Really happy, not talking-myself-into-it happy via some theory. Happiness that just happens. Happeniness.

Somewhere I’d read that this whole subject of whether or not you’re happy is relatively new. People used to be too busy trying to survive to think about it, and now having time to question whether or not they’re happy is a lot of pressure. It began to be emphasized that the Declaration of Independence says the pursuit of Happiness, to deter Americans like me from considering happiness a right.

Well, maybe a document can’t give me that right, but I can. Here’s an idea: Happiness is the feeling you have when you see things the way they are. You can pursue other things in an effort to enjoy more happiness.

And while the focus is on unmet expectations, other areas may be exceeding expectations. While my unemployment remains pending, my daughter’s eyes are beginning to sparkle more.