So this Constance just beat out 100 applicants for a brand spanking new job. Much rejoicing throughout the land and lots of cocktails to be imbibed in the coming days.

I'll be doing something I love, and they want to pay me good money to do it.

Naturally, I'm ecstatic, but also scared out of my mind. Plus, it's hard on Liam. He's been struggling since we moved, trying to find the perfect job, going on interview after interview, working temp jobs and going weeks without work. He's happy for me, but I know that my success also fuels his depression and feelings of unworthiness. So while celebrating my new position, I also have to take time out to counsel him. It's hard sometimes, but I love him, so I work through it.

I've always been the breadwinner; however, I made a big stink before we moved about how we needed to be more in line sharing expenses. He's got a litany of excuses he's used since day one to get out of paying for heat, electricity, etc...and truth to be told, I AM SICK OF IT!!!! He got a big lecture from me the other day, complete with spreadsheet detailing current expenses and current payments from each, alongside a proposal detailing how we could split our household expenses 50-50. He agreed, and I made a point to say this plan will be implemented before the warm weather hits. Fast forward a week or so....he says to me, "Before I start contributing more to the family fund, I'd like to by X, Y, Z.." and got PISSED when I freaked about it.

I am a firm believer that Men Don't Change. It's the cornerstone of many a discussion I've had with my girlfriends. Liam and I have been together for a looooong time and I'm worried now that I should step back and plug in the Men Don't Change equation, and see how it applies to my current situation. Am I screwed? Destined to continue to bear the brunt of our financial responsibilities?

At least I get to do something I like for work.....

two years out

I wrote this just about a year ago, at the time it was one year from the procedure, now it's nearing two. Most days I can handle the decision, but some days, I can feel the weight of my decision. I recently read an article in Vanity Fair magazine about Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon and Carole King in which they discuss Joni Mitchell's song "Little Green". Before I read the article, I had no idea it was written about a little girl she'd given up for adoption. Listening to the song on my Ipod this morning, it was all I could do to hold back the tears--as I hadn't even given mine the chance to be born. And there are very few people in this world that even know I went through that.

So I give you my words from last year:

Sometimes the line between fantasy and reality blurs so much you aren't sure which side you're on, until reality smacks you so hard in the face it knocks a little bit of your consciousness streetside.

When the fantasy turns into a pismire of anguish, a corner you never thought you'd have to turn, a crossroads you never in your wildest dreams imagined yourself standing at, suddenly, urgently, it's time to act.

It all comes into focus: you, standing in the center, glowing like nuclear waste, and there they are on either side of you, calling, crying, pulling...and there you are, shimmering away, full of disgust for yourself and wondering how exactly you got there in the first place. Except you know exactly how you got into this predicament, and it disgusts you even more.

He told you he doesn't know how to cry, but there he is, sobbing away, creating some suicide plan, elaborately described--blood spattering clean new condo walls. He has the gun, he knows where to get it, he's going to use it, if you do that. If you do it, I will do it, he says. You are afraid to get in his car, check twice beneath the seat for a weapon.

You are going to do it. This is not how it's meant to be. You pick up the phone, driving home, you call the number, you make an appointment. Hang up the phone shaking your head, wondering in amazement how your insurance could possibly cover this kind of thing.

Meanwhile, the man at the other side of the crossroads seemingly rides up on a white horse, swoops you away and carries you home. This one, from whom you were trying to escape in the first place.

Standing on the cold concrete, wearing your sweatpants in the city, wearing no makeup, pushing past the throngs of protesters and naysayers, pulling down sunglasses and averting eyes.

Four hours later, it's over.... an overwhelming sense of relief rushes over you..maybe that's just the drugs-- but you swear they sucked some of your own soul out, too, while you were on that table.

Moving Day

Welcome to my kickass secret pink apartment. I am honored and a little nervous to be joining such a great group of women. Thanks, Constance the First, for having such a fabulous idea.

I'm here, moving in my swank furniture and setting up the place. The view from this secret city apartment is so nice, can't wait for the weather to be warmer--I'll head up to the roof deck and enjoy a cocktail or two (or seven) :)

I'm a 31 year old East Coast woman. I live with my 30-something man, we'll call him Liam here. We met in fall 1999 and moved in together a year later. We are not married and don't have any plans to do so in the near future. I think we are going to end up as one of those couples who are together forever but never get married (a la Kurt and Goldie). Things aren't always perfect--life is an adventure.

Stay tuned for more blissfully anonymous posts, and feel free to stop by Apt 125 any old time, even if all you need to do is borrow a cup of sugar.

Constance the Hundred Twenty Fifth