I walked away from my home today after weeks of shaving down my cumbersome and redundant belongings. I have given away my old life, sold the reminders of happier times, pawned off my little securities and parted with a near-dead minivan I never wanted to begin with, the washer and dryer I laundered my infant's diapers in, and countless beloved stuffed animals, toys, bikes and games.

I scoured my soul right along with the cabinets and with dirty fingernails, I dug out my heart just as sure as I dug out the keepers from the dross. This day began with me picking bits of garbage, remnants of our everyday life, out of blades of dead grass in the yard where my girls played so happily while I spent so many hours crying in bed, wanting to die, cursing their father and ultimately, myself for allowing myself to fall into such a deep black chasm of self loathing and helplessness. This day ends with me lighter of load, scared as hell and giddy at the thought that I get to start over.

Do I get to start over?

Is there still a chance in hell that my heart hasn't scarred over too much to render me loveless? Please tell me there is a chance. Tell me there will be many chances and tell me this often because right now, things are feeling tenuous and I only want to be clean and to have my loose ends knotted and done.

The opportunities I've had to examine my life have been varied and plentiful. I have touched everything I own and repacked the condensed version of it all into a neat and tidy box measuring just under 6 feet by 10 feet. This has been very... um, (I apologize in advance for the cliche) cleansing... to say the least. There were bills, letters and reciepts dating back for 15 years. I still had the letters my previous lover wrote in his hours of darkness during our prolonged breakup, as well as my ticket book from a pre-motherhood waitress job at a cafe, and the paperwork from the abortion I sought when a pregnancy's hormones and my life's bleak reality took me to the brink of my ability to cope. All of it was there. All the heartache was documented, the mundane events captured in dozens of journals never completed and boxes upon boxes of photographs tell the truth about this person I was, tried to be...am. I burned boxes of papers, tossed out years worth of odds and ends and forced myself to stand naked, prying my own eyes open to meet the doppleganger who occupies the space in a parallel dimension commonly thought of as the mirror.

Walking away was hard as hell to do but it was something that Had To Be Done. I took my kids and left today so that I could shift the paradigm of Daddy Is Leaving Us Behind To Move Far Away Tomorrow Maybe To Never Be Seen Again into Mommy Is Taking Us On Another Cool Roadtrip To Visit Our Kickass Granny And To Have Adventures-o-Plenty.

They know what is happening, though, make no mistake. They saw me last night -- a snotty, heaving wreck -- and we wailed, mournful together in the forlorn, empty kitchen where I so recently peeled their apples and toasted the waffles they like to eat with peanut butter and honey. They say you should be mindful of children and it is strongly implied that they should not bear witness to the raw meat and gristle of a marriage in the throes of a gruesome death. I guess I was supposed to hire a sitter and better plan my decision to end up in the front yard in my bra and panties hurling full wine bottles at their father's truck while screaming "I hate you, you fucking cocksucker" at the top of my lungs. I know that we aren't supposed to do these things in front of the children and I don't often expose my kids to violent or psychotic episodes... it's just that I was rendered temporarily insane when it became clear to me that the man whose children I bore, this man whose meals I prepared for 8 years -- the very man who told me I was too fat to be properly fuckable, the same one who I was so devastated about losing but willing to let go so that he might "find" himself... that this man, the beloved father of my beautiful girls, had planned to spend our last night together as a family out partying with one of my best friends.

WTF???

I'm sorry, but I must have missed something here. Who does that? Doesn't it come standard with brains and heart, this basic knowledge that the night before leaving (homeless and broke) your kids and ex (who has been really fucking cool and chill considering the circumstances) that one should put forth some kind of effort to make the situation more... I don't know, bearable/pleasant/meaningful by, say, hanging out together for a meal and some relaxing entertainment in order to taste the essence of these people you (once?) love/d and whose company you will not share again for an undetermined amount of time?

Wow.

If you heard a strange noise last night and felt alarmed for no apparent reason, I am fairly certain that was the sound of the slap across my face and the echo of my enraged rebuttal and of the shattered glass of wine bottles still encased in the pretty satin bottle sleeves we received as anniversary gifts not so long ago.

Que Sera, Sera, Happy Trails Motherfucker and Good Fucking Riddance.

Hell hath no Moxie like me.