Deep in sleep, I could be having the most perfect dream and BAM that damn scale scrapes the tile as it's pulled from it's home under the shelf in our bathroom! There I am wide awake until I hear it put back where it belongs. Every.Single.Morning that he gets up before I do that scale is pulled out. I can't explain why but it leaves a sickness in the pit of my stomach. Why does he care so much what that number on the scale reflects? Our bodies fit perfectly together. Don't they? Maybe he's not as sure as I am. THAT thought scare me to death. I've voiced my concern. Or maybe I whispered it because I'm very, very afraid of the answer. My curves that so completely complemented his are now met with thin limbs and vanishing love handles. He's healthy and happy but my mind (and it's accompanied craziness) goes to gaunt and sick. He assures me he feels better and more energetic than he has in years but still that scale scraping that tile floor reminds me of everything that I have no control over.
In my current swirling mind of mess, lets throw in a call from my ex husband.
Long story, short. I used to give him back the child support that was automatically sent to me by the Social Security Administration because, well I felt sorry for him. A couple months ago he pissed me off and I quit giving it back. Anyway he called to tell me he was going to be evicted because he can't pay his rent with what is left (approximately 600.00 a month). I get it. That's not a lot of money. What it boils down to is I created a monster. Can we afford to keep giving him the money that the court has decided is child support? NO! But, I can't let him be homeless either. Doesn't divorce mean I no longer have to worry about any facet of his life? I'm sure it does in some language. Am I going to help him? Probably. For how long? I don't know.
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.
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