Eric is packing for his move, and there are moving boxes in half the rooms, and I feel like I’m in the way wherever I am, while in reality of course it’s the boxes being in the way. And I just feel so done with this. I am counting down days until this is over. Except there is no fixed date, it’s “just after New Year’s”, so I don’t even know.

I try to read or knit and I keep getting interrupted. I want to use the Christmas break to do something actually relaxing or fun, but there is no room for fun and no peace and quiet to be had, so this feels like the worst and most wasted Christmas break ever. And it’s +8°C and a drizzle out there, to top it all off.

I am breathing my way through the days. I am annoyed by things that would normally not bother me the least, and I resent the heck out of the situation.

What a difference love makes. And how obvious it is that love is an active choice more than a feeling that just happens. When I actively chose to love Eric, if there was some little thing he did that could be perceived as annoying, I could decide to not view it as such. I loved him, and he had his foibles, and ignoring those foibles was a part of loving him. And they truly did not annoy me, because in the grand scheme of things, they were nothing. Leaves the toilet lid up when flushing? Puts apples in the fruit bowl without rinsing them? Cuts up everything on his dinner plate so he can shovel it all up with just a fork? It was nothing.

Now it is not nothing.

Eric and the kids will mostly have brand new furniture for their new apartment.

A lot of what we have here has been bought specifically for these rooms. They’re the right size and shape and colour for their places. It wouldn’t make sense to move this sofa elsewhere and buy a replacement for it here, or the kitchen table, etc.

Bookshelves are an exception. The IKEA Billy is the quintessential bookshelf in Sweden, and unless you’re splurging on something custom-built, it rarely makes sense to get anything else. It’s just a matter of choosing between oak veneer or white.

Since we’re divvying up the books, we’re doing the same with the bookshelves. I helped Eric move half of ours to the new apartment today, along with the first batch of boxes.

We made gingerbread cookies. Store-bought ones can’t compete, and I realize I need to copy Eric’s recipe because otherwise next Christmas in this household will be a sad affair.

Every year we tell ourselves that we will only bring out the most important cutters and that there is no need to dirty all of them. Our priorities overlap but only partially, and we end up using at least two thirds of all the cutters anyway. I like the traditional shapes, Ingrid wants the ones that are good for decorating, Adrian prefers the small ones that are best at using up the most dough. Eric is happy to just bake whatever we cut.

The dough gets smaller and smaller with each round, but there will be no wastage!

Eric, Ingrid and Adrian are all full of new home energy, busy with furnishing and equipping the new apartment. Taking full-day trips to IKEA. Trying out sofas and beds, checking out kitchen tables, choosing cutlery. Sketching out their rooms on grid paper, placing out paper rectangles for beds, armchairs, desks. Scouring the internet for vintage furniture at bargain prices. Getting deliveries of kitchen equipment.

Me, meanwhile… I feel like I’m in limbo. I’m not even planning any major changes, except for the bedroom/library/office, where I will have more space. And I will be going to go through the cupboards and basement storage to get rid of old stuff. That’s about it. It’s not like I have grand plans. Still, I feel like I’m in waiting mode, very much looking forward to it all being over.

I feel like an outsider in my own home – even though it is more mine than ever. (The transfer deed was registered yesterday.) Perhaps it is because there are all these goings-on that I am not at all part of. Choices and decisions that I have no interest and no say in; purchases that won’t affect me in the least – but all of them happening right in front of me, impossible to ignore.

Our lovely Bernina sewing machine was inherited from Eric’s mother, and will soon be leaving with Eric.

Every household needs a sewing machine, and I’d find it difficult to manage without one. Today I found a new sewing machine. Or rather, an old one. Here’s my new old Husqvarna Automatic 21 A. Shiny and green!

According to one site, this particular model was produced from 1958 to 1961, so it is probably even older than the Bernina. For back-stitching, you press and hold a button on this one, whereas on the Bernina you push the stitch length lever to the opposite side, so you can use both hands while back-stitching. But the Husqvarna is a fancier model, featuring a whole bunch of decorative stitches.

I’m quite unlikely to use the decorative stitches much. All I want from my sewing machine in terms of features is straight stitches forwards and backwards, and zig-zag. Possibly, maybe, buttonholes.

What I really want is reliability and repairability. I want a stable, solid metal body, and an absolute minimum of plastic components. With care and regular maintenance, this one should keep going for decades yet.

Also it doesn’t hurt that this cost me only 800 SEK.

Eric got the keys for his new apartment today. I actually didn’t take any photos today, so I’m “borrowing” these from tomorrow, when we went to take a first look at it.

It’s got three bedrooms, two balconies, and a large living room with a very high ceiling and tall windows.

Eric and Adrian are planning out who gets what room, how to furnish the living room, and what will go where in the kitchen.

Eric and I are divorcing.

We agreed to do this about a month ago. Now that Ingrid and Adrian, our families, and closest friends have been informed, I can write about it here.

It’s been a long time coming. We did counselling a few years back, but it didn’t make any real difference. We just can’t reach each other any more. We both want/need things from each other that the other isn’t able to provide. There is always a tension of underlying dissatisfaction. It can be unnoticeable for a while, but keeps coming back.

There are no signs that we can ever “fix” this. I see no common foundation to build upon. After years of vain effort, everybody will feel better if we stop struggling and let go.

I have been vaguely considering the idea of divorce for a long time. At first as a scary worst-case scenario – what if we can’t make our relationship work and have to divorce? – that led me to do everything possible to avoid it. Then as a possible, but still scary outcome. Finally as a practical solution. Now that we have agreed to go ahead with it, the feeling is one of relief.

Ingrid and Adrian were initially very shocked but are, I believe, getting used to the idea. They both have multiple friends with divorced parents, and though a few have very rocky co-parenting relationships, most manage it without drama.

The shock was, in my eyes, a good thing. If we had gotten to a state where dissent was obviously visible even to children, then we’d have been well past the point where something needs to happen.

Now we can do this in a civilized, even friendly way, without drama. Figure out all the practicalities together; sort out all the admin. We sent in the divorce papers yesterday, but probably won’t have separated our households before the end of the year. Eric has bought an apartment with a move-in date in November, and then he’ll need time to furnish it. I’ll be keeping the house; today we started the process of getting it valued.