My parents got divorced when I was about 11, I think, though I'm not sure.
I know that I was old enough to understand what was happening, and that I tried to hide it from my classmates at the time. As I look back, that was pretty silly, since I'm quite certain now that half of the kids I knew had divorced parents. And I know that I wasn't yet an acting out teenager, since I don't remember any impassioned brattiness over the whole thing, so 11 is probably about right.
I did not suffer from this divorce any more than the suffering that is part of living. I don't think it made me special or scarred in any way that is different from the scars we all carry. But it did contribute to making me independent. Any of you who have read this blog for a while may have a little snicker at that, and I wouldn't blame you.
Jennifer, independent? But she's the one who is bellyaching for her husband after only 5 days apart!
And you know what? You would be right.
I don't know how this happened to me.
Before I met MacGyver, I just assumed that I wouldn't get married, wouldn't ever find anyone who could be with me. I had spent my life feeling alone, watching the world go by in couples holding hands and smooching. While through my adolescent years I spent many nights crying over my apparent unapproachableness, in my twenties I now know that I began to cultivate it, and to build a castle dedicated to me, and me alone. I think being an artist is akin to having a neverending conversation that no one else can really hear. It's a beautiful and ecstatic conversation, and the fact that no one else hears you makes you naturally isolated, and even just a tad bit arrogant. You just know that all those other poor normal people are missing out!
Feeling different was part of that castle I was building, and the more fortified the castle, the more I began to beleive I would be one of those heroines who never marries. I would have a life of lovers that would come and go, and children from different fathers, probably girls, who I would raise to be just like me.
And then there's now. Something in the stars, in the fates, destiny, karma, or some other mysterious force propelled me towards meeting my husband. I feel lucky every single day, even when I'm pissed at him over something. I live in a house full of men, right down to the dog, and I love it. I grew up thinking that happy families (meaning those without divorce) probably didn't exist, or if they did they were definitely a club that didn't allow strange birds like me.
I was wrong.