This weekend was filled with sorting and cleaning.
My garage, my basement, my head, my life.
Clean for twenty minutes, cry for twenty minutes.
With The Decemberists on repeat on my Ipod
This week may just be the most difficult of my life with the contested omnibus on Friday. I had a very smart friend prepare me for the worst by telling me that I need to wrap my head around the possibility that he won't receive anything but a slap on the wrists. There are mothers and daughters out there that have been through this process and gotten nothing but fucked, one more time, by the judicial system. It's at times like that when you have to appreciate how much courage it takes to face down the demons and realize that even though they don't get what they deserve, the fact that they were charged with a sex crime means that it will be on their record forever. Even if they don't go to prison or jail, they will always be a marked individual and will probably never get a "real job" in the future. Unfortunately, that won't mean much for STBX as he never had a "real job" to begin with. Any job with any amount of aggravation was an unceasing diatribe against humanity (I know, I heard about it). I highly doubt that he's going to apply to work at a daycare center or a school.
In other words, a slap on the wrist will mean just that, a slap on the wrist.
My friend wasn't telling me to give up just yet, just like my divorce lawyer, she was preparing me so I won't go off the deep end, so I won't meet him out front of the court house with a moltov cocktail, shaken, not stirred.
"You have no control over any of this. You've done everything you were supposed to do. Now you just have to wait. You can't expend you mental energy on him. You have to focus on your daughter."
Great advice. I will try to remember it as I watch the bastard try to squirm his way out of this one.