In less than three weeks, our children and I will be moving out of my house and my ex-husband will be moving back into it.  He has removed the “for sale” sign, as I knew he would (even though no one believed me) and will have this big house all to himself.  He will live a block away from our children’s school, but rarely go there.  He will live two blocks from the forest I love to run in and walk my dog in, but hardly make use of it.  Our children will no longer be able to walk down or across the street and drop by to see if their friends want to play.  In the meantime, we will relocate to a house that is a quarter of its worth, in a neighborhood that I don’t feel entirely safe in, is not nearly as conveniently located, and is inhabited by people with whom I have nothing in common.  

I don’t mean to sound spoiled - I know there must be millions of people who are worse off than I - so I won’t complain.  I generally speak positively about it and I’m sure it will be fine, that we will be fine.  I’ll will make it my own and make a fresh start.  But I am sometimes upset by his dishonesty and angered by the injustice of it all.  The Dutch seem to have little regard for women, and their divorce laws lead me to wonder why any female in her right mind would ever want to get married here.  Being a foreigner, I didn’t have a clue and there’s no use hitting myself over the head about it now, although sometimes I do anyway.  Like it or not, I’m stuck here for the time being.

I don’t really have the stomach to write down all of the gory details, so I won’t.  I’m really so very over it all.  The story I set out to tell you was this.  On several occasions over the past six months, since I was forced to seek new accommodations, girlfriends of mine have expressed a fervent desire to trash, burn down, or otherwise destroy this house and avenge me.  One of them even offered to beat him up - I think she can take him...  No need to alert the authorities - none of them would actually do it and I wouldn’t want them to.  I’m a big girl and I’m doing my best to take care of myself.  I don’t need to be a victim, a damsel in distress waiting to be saved by a knight (or a queen) in shining armor.  But I was surprised and moved by their outpouring of love and genuine emotion.  I adore men, so don’t get me wrong, but I seriously doubt any one of them will ever hold a candle to any of my girlfriends.

So there you have it.  Time to stop procrastinating and start packing.  I’ve moved 22 times in my lifetime, and I’m sure this won’t be the last.  I guess I’m used to it by now, but it’s still a huge pain in the ass!  Wish I could wave a magic wand and be done with it.