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House to Home.

*This was written months ago. As were the many posts to follow. But I needed some peace and quiet. The holidays were tough. The screen light of instagram and facebook seemed to shine light on my failings. While highlighting everyone else's successes. This is not the truth. I know this. I scuttled away for a bit to remind myself.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.*

She bought a house. The ex-girlfriend. The curse (and gift) of living in a small town. Learning these things. We have an area newspaper that lists real estate transactions. I was spared the happy photo of her standing next to the sold sign but the news was there. It's exciting. Buying your first house. An accomplishment. A point of pride. Something to be celebrated. And good for her. Really. Except that...

Except that, it's like another slap in the face. Another example of how she walked away scot-free. Her role in the implosion of a marriage was neither secret nor small. But it would seem that she is the only one not dealing with some sort of nuclear fallout. Sure, she went dark on social media for almost a week. An eternity to that set. Maybe she even had to explain herself to her friends or family. Unlikely. These relationships are often secretive and, to me anyway, not something to be bragging about. But other than that, she seemed to walk away. Blissful. Unscathed. Uncaring even. Of course, she is not required to feel anything about it. Or me. Or the little ones in the home.

I have this image of Andy Samberg's SNL video about cool guys walking away from explosions. My mind continually drawing a comparison between that video and her. A purposeful stride away from the mayhem behind you. She is able to do that. Lucky for her. No need to look back and assess, or even acknowledge, the damage. No need to see the struggle. She can move forward with her life and celebrate this incredible milestone (and many others). While I am here fighting with all I have to keep our home. To keep it. In every way you can imagine.

I know the part of me that spends time on her is waning. I know this because part of me feels good for her. It's kick ass. Female home ownership. Another part of me? That part just wants a friggin' break here. I also know I am not there yet. Because the other other part of me? Welp, that part of me thought about sending a celebratory glitter bomb. Or even a bag of dicks. Both of which can be sent anonymously, by the way. But I decided against it. (As did my inner circle). Because I am a grown-ass lady. That's not to say I didn't giggle with glee at the image in my head. Not the bag of dicks. Meh. But the glitter bomb. I could totally see myself, the cool girl walking away from a massive nuclear glitter cloud behind her. That gave me joy. Because I can also still be a child. Who loves glitter. Fundamental me.

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