October 3, exactly one month until I turn 30. The BIG 3-0. I laid awake at 6 a.m. on my day off in my apartment. MY apartment, not OUR apartment, MINE. This is the first place I have lived alone. Well not alone, my sister Vickie lives here too now. After her and Mom had a huge fight over Vickie’s lack of a plan after grad school, I let her move in. Grad school at a private college that my dad is paying through the nose for. He pays our light bill to help me out though. I pay the rent and Vickie buys food. She got a tutoring job on campus. I don’t think she likes tutoring but it keeps her in a steady stream of undergrad one-night stands. She’s always gone on the weekends to some party or whatever.
My husband, Jason, still makes my truck payment, thankfully. The truck is in his name and I told him when I left Dallas that I was going to call the finance company to come get it. He said, “No. I’ll keep paying for it, because you to have a good vehicle to drive to work.” Lucky for him it will be paid off in January. Once that’s done and I get the title, I’ll probably file for divorce. We’ll see. Even after all his crap, I am still so conflicted about how I feel towards him.
I decided 10 months ago that I couldn’t be THAT WOMAN anymore. You know the one that turns a blind eye to her husband’s drinking, possible drug use, lying and cheating just to stay in the nice apartment and drive the nice truck. At first it was just drinking heavily. Then it was the hints of perfume or makeup, but once I found lipstick on his boxers it was just too much. He didn’t deny it or even apologize. Jason just didn’t give a shit how I felt about the situation. So, I held on for 3 more months until I could secure a transfer with work and find the courage to tell my parents I needed to come home. Yep, I was a boomerang kid at 29.