A mother's son has left me sheer

I've got this kinda backed-up feeling, like a blockage in my brain.

Makes me not want to write right now... but that's probably a sign of needing to.

Any excuse to write, I suppose.

The Artesia house, my Wednesday couch, home to my long-time friend, her husband, and their four-year-old girl, home to the long dark purple curtains, the white and beige long-haired cats and the huge flat-panel television that I love to spend time in front of surfing Netflix on Demand... well, that has come into this odd state of being.

She left him.

She finally left him.

After so many years of unhappiness and frustration, she ended it.

I was thrilled and scared for her. The upheaval of divorce, of child-custody, of dividing up belongings and bank accounts, it's going to be so much work.

But she has a shot at happiness again.

She told me this on the phone last night, when I was driving down to Long Beach. We were both on our way to individual evening activities, so it was kept brief, she told me that she would let me know the rest of the details at lunch the next day. Our offices are near each other, so we meet up every week and regale each other with our very different adventures.

We met up today, at the usual coffee shop, her with a coworker in tow. Dominant male, mid-thirties, ex-Army, divorcee. He's fun, though no where near my type.

They're there before me, as per usual. I come up from behind them and say my hellos, then given her a hug.

"Man," he says to me, "she's been holding out on us. She trumps both of our wild stories with what's been going on with her."

I look at her, "Motorcycle-Blond?"

She grins at me, ducks her head.

"How long?" I ask.

"Since January."

"January??"

She's been cheating on her husband since January. Six months. I had known she was interested in Motorcycle-Blond, had known he returned her interest, but I did not think either of them would be willing to carry on an affair. Neither of them seem the type to enjoy sneaking around.

The smile continues to tease at her lips, but it takes several more seconds for it to bloom.

She's happy. She's excited.

I express my happiness for her, for finally freeing herself of such a toxic relationship and finding another with a man who delights her, a man who supports her. I've met him, I like him... significantly more than I like her husband.

The lunch break is spent focusing on her, directing my body language into a subservient, listening stance, making sure she is always center. She needs this. I usually dominate our lunches, but she is going to be the dominant one this time.

I do not speak my mind.

What am I supposed to say?

That I find the idea of stepping outside of a monogamous relationship that you committed yourself into without your partner's consent extremely distasteful? That to sneak behind your partner's back, no matter how much of a bastard he is, for six months is so very weak. That if you want to end your marriage, you should do so in a direct manner. They both were not happy, they both treated each other with extreme disrespect and I saw this every time I crashed on their couch, and then some.

Their marriage ended last weekend not because of a blow up, not because she sat down and talked to him about how miserable they both were, but because he has suspected her of cheating on him for the last several months (even though she continued to deny it), and, when she was knocked out on pain medications, he went through her cell phone and read her text messages, then called the guy (who was also a friend of his) and told him that he knew exactly what was going on.

Even though he didn't.

Smart man.

So Motorcycle-Blond confessed, my friend's husband confronted her, and she bailed.

There was more to it than that, obviously, but there's the general sum for you.

It bothers me more than I can describe at this moment.

I have a lot of friends through many different social groups. All of them are so very different from each other and from myself. But we all have similiar values. Not the same, but definitely alike enough to function, to get along.

I've been friends with this woman for almost a decade now. She was one of the only people there for me during my wild years, she was the one who helped center me when I became pregnant, hell, she was the one who took me to get the pregnancy test and it was in her bathroom that I learned I had, indeed, been knocked up.

She has always been accepting and encouraging of my lifestyle. She's always been there when I have needed support. When that car rammed into my driver's side going much too fast and I could hardly sit without experiencing pain, she was the one who filled out the insurance claim online while I laid on her bed and dictated to her the information.

She was the one who lent me her truck as often as I wanted so I could move out of my old apartment without the abusive ex noticing.

And when parties at my apartment got out of control and I had to retreat into the bedroom to fight off the anxiety attacks, she was there, talking to me, calming me down, and making sure that any and all vomit was cleaned up.

So I swallow the judgement down. I swallow my values because it is not my place to judge her. I want her to be happy and healthy and she is taking steps to get to that point. They may not be the steps I would've taken, but it isn't my life- it's hers.