A New Canvas (Addie's journal)

[Addie LeMere]

Locked away in the nightstand drawer is a moleskien (not moleskin) notebook with off white lined pages. The black binding has a slight texture and it's larger than the pocket size. There is a red and gold pen laying next to it. Opening it up to the first page is scrawled in somewhat elegant, somewhat messy handwriting,

June 26, 2010
Dear Diary Journal Me whatever...

Almost two years ago now, I discovered my husband of 25 years having an affair. It is a great shock to discover that half of your life has been a lie, the love you thought you had was barren and dry, and the home you made was colder than you realized. I have been an artist since I could draw, I think, and I almost missed out on my talent when I was 16. I was being trained in my power, I am telekinetic, you see, but of course I know I was, this journal is for my eyes, only is it not? But I digress. As an artist, I have used art to express and communicate my ideas, but after finding my husband screwing his research assistant I stared for hours at a blank canvas. Every artist fears the white page, but for me, at this time, it was worse. I couldn't start, it was as if my brakes were on. So, my therapist suggested I try a new kind of therapy, since talking proved difficult when my thoughts were jumbled, and obviously painting didn't work. So here I am, I bought a new moleskein and I'm writing. No pictures, no illustrations, just words.

Which leads me to, Philip stole my dictionary. I know it shouldn't be a big deal, but the fact that my cheating ex husband has my things and I shall never get it back, makes my skin crawl. I thought about buying a new dictionary, and remembered I never used my old one that much, except when I wanted to brainstorm a new series.

Getting back to Phil, I hate him. I really think I do. He stole 25 years from me. Apparently meaningless to him, they were good, or so I thought. I will never regret the birth of our children, don't get me wrong, but what if I missed out on true love because I was stuck with Philip Lincoln? What if I could still be married, and happy? And yet I wonder, while Philip is going around banging every beaker toting twit in the tri-city area, is there another chance for me out there? The hurt is overwhelming, and I am afraid to try my luck at love again, but my daughter tells me to move on. Is it so simple? I haven't been on a first date since I met Philip. So, twenty-seven years ago now? I could have had a few nice first dates if I hadn't gone on that first with him. He was so sweet, charming, and intelligent. What if I fall for the same old tricks again?

I have halted the alimony payments because I have resumed teaching. I know, part of me wants to suck that bast man dry. And yet, I want to be free of him, totally. Next year Jack will be 18 and the child support will end. And then I will only HAVE to talk to that tretchorous treacherous dirtbag when our kids get married or when Jack graduates, and maybe grandkids' birthdays.

Is it so wrong that I hope that man dies while in the sack? Maybe his 57-year-old heart gives out even though I know he's in top form for a man his age? Can't God work with me here?

Addie