Sofie and Me

— Photo by ML

Sofie is my new best friend. She's not quite 3 years old, is half Pit Bull and half Basenji, and she's some 40lbs of pure muscle. Sofie likes me. How do I know? Well, she didn't eat me when we first met. And now, as soon as she sees me, she gets up on her hind legs with her favorite toy in her mouth ready to play.

I have never owned a dog before, and technically Sofie is not my dog (yet!), but I'm working on it. Sofie's real owner is .. hm .. a very good friend of mine (but that's a another story).

Anyway, the other day we all went to Fairmount Park here in Philadelphia, and as Sofie's new best friend, and as "dog owner in training", I, of course, had the leash. We were walking through the park, sniffing at trees, marking territories .. well, Sofie did. I just held on to the leash, and tried, as best I could, to prevent Sofie from eating just about anything that she thought interesting and/or yummy.

In a Previous Life

— Photo by ML

I had to call "the bank" again today. Usually they call at least twice per day (they really want to talk with you if you owe them lots of money), but this time I actually needed to talk with them. I needed some clarifications regarding the foreclosure process, how a "short sale" works, and so on.

Given the topics that I needed to discuss, my mood was somber, but not emotional. At this point I've talked to "the bank", or more specifically with the "Loss Mitigation Department" (that's a fancy term for debt collector) at "the bank" so many times that I can easily turn the conversation in pretty much any direction I want. I just remain very calm, focused, and business-like.

The process is actually very much impersonal, and you're really just a loan number associated with an asset and a financial risk factor. You never speak with the same person twice, and you really do not gain anything by bringing emotions into the conversations.

Old Life Fighting Back

— Photos by ML and Colodio

Today I was reminded in no uncertain terms that some aspects of my "old" life aren't behind me quite yet. Like a dying monster in a B-movie, they've come back for one final showdown. What happened? Well, I found out that I may go into foreclosure. This is obviously something I've been trying to avoid, not because I want to keep the house, but because a foreclosure in your credit record just takes so much longer to erase.

My divorce completely cleaned me out. It's a bit humiliating to admit, but it's the truth. Having gotten used to the idea, though, it really doesn't bother me that much anymore. I feel that being upset over my circumstances at this point is just a total waste of energy — akin to be being angry at the weather gods.

Photo by Esther G

A few months have passed now since my divorce was finalized. But, as so often is the case, there are still some loose ends that need to be tied up, and this process therefore often requires quite a bit of communication with the now "ex". In my case, this is difficult under the best of circumstances, and it's outright painful when we have to discuss complex issues such as selling the house.

At this point I should probably clarify a few things: my ex and I have not "spoken" with each other in almost two years. There have been a few attempts that quickly ended in one of us — usually me — walking away to avoid a significant blow-up. The truth is that the animosity between us makes it impossible to carry any conversation whether by phone or email (forget in-person or IM) for more than a few sentences before it disintegrates. In fact, we only contact each other if there is absolutely no other way to get that piece of information.

The old me

— Photo by ML

I am slowly disassembling the "old" me piece by piece. Some changes are voluntary, some are not. Some changes are quite profound and often very difficult, while other changes are trivial and should have been done a long time ago. The most visible change is, of course, material: I have a lot less "stuff". In fact, I have almost no stuff left.

The strange thing, though, is that I don't really care. Come to think of it, that alone is a profound change in my personality. Sure, losing it all was rather painful, at least initially. After all, we're talking about big things like cars, house, furniture, and other "stuff" that one accumulates over several years. And it didn't happen over night, or due to some freak weather incident or fire. No, it happened because of my divorce, and I was actually "awake" the whole time.

Photo by Hani Amir

So you meet someone and you click right away. You have never met this person before, yet there is something very familiar about this person. You are both similar, but not identical. The two of you keep meeting almost every day, and you talk, text, email, and IM every day.

You have similar life experiences and similar likes and dislikes, but, again, you are not identical. You are different enough for it to be exiting, but not enough for it to be jarring. You naturally agree on the broad strokes, and find it easy to compromise on the details.

It feels as if you have known each other for a very long time, yet it has only been a few weeks. And you are already very comfortable with each other — the kind of "comfortable" that can take a very long time to build up.

Wish you were here

— Photos by ML

Out of the blue she asked: "Dad, why do you travel so much?" I had called her, like I do every evening, to ask her about her day and, of course, to wish her a good night. She's 5, or more specifically — and she would insist — she's "five and a half!" I have traveled quite a bit her whole life, but it seems to bother her much more now after the divorce.

When I'm not traveling I work from home, and before the divorce that meant she'd see me every day. Now I can only see her every other weekend, and I don't think she quite understands that the reason for us not getting together as often anymore is not that I travel so much more than before — it only seems that way to her. Her much older sister is handling this differently, or maybe I'm misreading the cues. She's a teenager, and I doubt I'd be the first dad misreading his teenage daughter (or son for that matter).

Boxes Piled High

— Photos by ML

I have too much stuff! Too much stuff for my small apartment. How did this happen? It didn't look like it was that much when I packed up my previous apartment. Yes, I am moved to a smaller place. This new place has "only" a bedroom, living room, and kitchen — it's not big by any measure, but it's more than enough for one person, and it's right in the middle of the city.

The building is old, so ceiling height is about 1 mile (maybe I'm exaggerating a little). The windows are as tall as doors, and the view is down to a busy street with restaurants and bars.

But back to the problem at hand: where do I put all this stuff? I have weeded out old clothes and probably get rid of a few more things. The big problem is all my kitchen stuff. I like to cook and I therefore have a bit more than just a pot to boil some water. And what about all the cups and plates and glasses (wine and beer and other). Then there is the wine rack. Where do I put it? Oh, and the other liquor bottles? I mean, some "stuff" one simply cannot live without.