I'm not a divorcée, but I play one in real life.

Tonight is Erev (i.e. the evening of) Rosh Hashannah, the start of the Jewish High Holidays. I didn't find out weeks in advance from my Aspiring Ex or son as I used to; I instead found out from was reminded by a certain fellow Burner in Toronto, who also happens to be Jewish. That means that this evening, which as a Wednesday would ordinarily be a night for having dinner with my son, I'll be showing up late, walking the dog, and then saying L'Shannah Tovah to AX & the Wendling when they get back from synagogue services. Lots of feels:

1. My son was thinking earlier this week that he might have to work tonight. Couldn't they have made sure I knew what was going on ahead of time? Sheesh. I would have been cheesed off and maybe even freaked out if I'd arrived to find the house I own half of empty except for a lonely dog.
2. It just goes to show you how divorced we already act that something like this could happen.
3. Yeah, I miss Rosh Hashannah dinner. AX really is quite the cook, and she puts a lot of love into Rosh Hashannah. And yeah, I miss feeling like part of a family.
4. I really do not miss synagogue services. Don't get me wrong. I've got nothing but respect & affection for the clergy at Temple B'Nai Torah, past & present. But good gravy, my brain wanted to crawl out my ears during services. I'd follow along with the Hebrew at one quarter speed in a vain attempt to preserve my sanity.