"We want our problems, our age or our paychecks…"-Raine Maida

I've misplaced my toothbrush. No, not really, but that's how it feels.

It's hard to believe I've been on this ride for almost a year now. It's even weirder when I remember she moved out three months ago, and I haven't seen her ghost in over a month. I miss her, but not in great gasping aches; it's more like faint rappings at the back of my skull.

"Where's my toothbrush?"

It's something I had, something I needed daily, something I'll work around.

Sometimes it's tangibly real; all five senses set out tendrils, straining to grasp what's missing. Other times, it's a dry ice fog nightmare. Shapes and shadows with no sense. Speaking of such, I had one the other night. I dreamed I was sitting in a bar with friends. There were four of us squeezed into a booth, drinking beer and joking about our lives. Looking up, I see a girl at the bar, she looks back, raises her glass and smiles. She's cute. Totally the girl next door if I had a girl next door. Right now it's a contractor's family of boys and a would-be dentist. I have no reference point. In my dream I did: she was it. Rachel Weisz, Baby Spice, and Everything nice. I look to my left to make sure she's not signaling my friend. Yeah, even in my dreams I have this uncanny self confidence. Fortunately, in my dreams, my vision is much better than real life. Otherwise I never would have seen her smile in the first place. As it turns out my friend is preoccupied with the wine list. Even if she was looking at him, he never saw it.

So what better reason to refill my drink? In this dream, I'm not married, I'm not divorced. I'm just Rob. So, just Rob saunters to the bar and orders a fresh drink. He also offers to buy the girl next to him one as well. She's drinking wine—red—shaken not stirred. I'm cool, I know what she drinks. She likes what she sees as much as she likes her alcohol, she says "sure." and a conversation is sparked.

Soon, we're talking over everything. We mesh, it's like we've known each other forever. I offer her another drink, she accepts and we toast:

"To possibilities"

'To possibilities" she smiles.

We drink. The door opens and two arrows fly into the room. One for each of our chests. Collapsing to the ground, she dies. I live; I now have this incredible dream ability to shock myself to life. I stand arrowless and undamaged in a pool of her blood. I find somebody who understands me, and she dies. Awesome. I vow to avenge her death, but that's hard to do when the world spirals away and I find myself lying alone in my bed. I can roll over and go back to sleep, but I know the truth. Come morning I'll wake up unfazed.

"Where's my toothbrush?"

This dream touches on all the points of the divorce foundational pyramid. You know how all self help gurus create these awesome charts and slogans to sell at their every convention? You know, stuff like:

Why ask why when you should say "I know you are but what am I?"

Ok, that's lame, but we've seen how good I am at helping myself. It shouldn't surprise you. It doesn't stop me from making hip charts and pithy slogans though. Among my charts is the triangle drawing of the attributes that pull us through a divorce. Next to each angle is a word:

Self Pity

Slow-Mo

What Now?

It's the whiny "help me" trifecta!

I think that following a divorce, we collapse on this pyramid, relying on it to prop us up.

Self pity keeps holds us up like a concrete bog. The slow-mo reenacts every moment spent with our spouse. An endless loop, until the mental tape snaps. Then there's the "what next?" It's the tornado of fate lobbing cows of crisis at us. It's life's little way of reminding us "irony is fun!"

So here I am leaning on the slow-mo side of the wedge. I remember what we were. I see the things that work and the things that didn't. But mostly I shake my head. I wonder what she's doing now, but not in a creepy "Cant take no" kind of way. Just more like "huh…" Sort of like checking up on some TV show you haven't watched for a few seasons, just to see what's going on.

"Hey, I didn't know he'd been eaten by a bear…"

Still, I'm here, I care. I'd hate to think she'd been eaten by a bear. No, really! I swear! At my worst, trampled by stampeding ants, maybe.

It is kinda weird though. Being with somebody for ten years. Having them in your thoughts and even when you're at your most confident in your relationship, you still go back to think of them, because you can. Leaving that and coming to this point here, where I shrug when somebody says "How's MyUnwife?" is an odd sidestep. If you told me two years ago that I'd be in a place like this, I'd have told you that you were dreaming, and you should wake up before you found an arrow in your chest.

Nevermind those protruding feathers. Have you seen my toothbrush?