My son recently married in Bolivia. My son has always been a kind of oddball, so if it seems strange that he got married in Bolivia... it is kind of strange and the story itself is one of those Kismet things.

This blog post is not about my son getting married. It is about a decision I made in December that after we got back from the wedding I was going to see a lawyer about a divorce.

From the moment dear hubby found out that the wedding was going to be in Bolivia and that we were going, he has made my life a living hell. I told him on several occassions that he DID NOT HAVE TO GO! I honestly believe it made him happier to complain (soap opera syndrom). So literally from Mother's Day (when my son and his fiance made the announcement) to this day, I've had to hear him complain. I think he actually thought if he complained enough that I wouldn't go. I've discovered that when he doesn't want me to do something he harangues me until I don't. But, come hell or high water, I was going to my first born's wedding!

My husband always has to have a crisis in his life. There is no such thing as contentedness. I guess I should be happy that the wedding took his mind off my past affair. At least he stopped bitching at me about something that took place four years ago.

So the decision was made to see a divorce attorney when I came back from Bolivia after the new year, mostly to get the low down and start getting my ducks in a row.

Just before Christmas, my mom in law was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She implored us to go to Bolivia for the wedding despite the diagnosis. While there, we found out she has cancer on her lung, and when we arrived back we found out the cancer is in her lymph nodes.

I'm not stupid. I'm 45. I know what this means. I also know that I am not so inhumane as to start divorce proceedings while my husband goes through the trauma of his mother dying.

While in Bolivia, I caught the "crud". A bad cold and Montezumma's revenge. So I've been going to bed early every night. Last night I went to bed at 8:00 PM. He came to bed at 10:00 PM and started this weird conversation. He can see me in his head like I was as a little girl. I told him that was nice but I don't like being treated like a little girl. He had to audacity to tell me that I make poor choices and therefore he has to treat me like one.

My response was that he NEVER has the right to treat me like a child.

This is the triangle, folks. Hubby = persecutor, Me = Victim, we both traverse the rescuer line. Except that I've jumped off the triangle and now he has no one to persecute, and I won't let him be the victim. It makes him very unhappy, and so he just tries harder.

What a fucked up life this is.