I guess I am not handling the divorce as well as my ex, who initiated it. He moved on at a rate that makes the speed of light look like it took a couple fat bong rips and a handful of valium. A grip is far beyond my reach. I had to go to his house to collect some of my belongings, and when I saw the candles by the bed and a pile of women's clothing, it literally made me sick. I vomited in the master bathroom, and after rinsing my mouth out with the nearly full bottle of Scope, I emptied my bladder into it. I know it was wrong, and perhaps someday I will reach a level of emotional maturity that will bring guilt and shame, but at this point in my life I get comfort from the thought of my ex sweetening up before a romp, or his new betty gargling after a cocktail party. The little voice of Karma keeps repeating "urine a heap of trouble" but right now it seems worth it.