Gettin' All Pretty For Court. Again.

Nightmares are a funny thing. As are dreams.

I normally can't recall my dreams which I attribute to the fact that my sleep is so poor, my brain never gets in the right place to remember.

Which is why I will probably end up in the booby hatch by the time I'm 50.

Is booby hatch politically correct? Hmmmm. Cracker factory?

After six months of insomnia, I woke up in mid-nightmare last night. The funny thing is, it wasn't so much a traditional nightmare as just an endless tape loop of me, reading my victim impact statement.

I had practiced my statement every morning during the week of the sentencing so I wouldn't break down when I read it. I also knew I couldn't look at anyone or else I wouldn't be able to read it out loud. In court, it ended up being me, staring down at the sheet of paper in front of me, pretending I was alone.

The really weird part was, I don't remember anything that I said.
I don't remember the tone of my voice.
I don't remember anything my daughter said either.

Of course, we KNEW what we said because it was written down, but the actual moment has been blocked out of my mind.

Until this morning at 2 a.m when I woke up in full panic mode because I kept reading my statement and I could never get to the end of it.

After I woke up I ended up going over what he said. Yeah, see that dead horse? BEAT IT! BEAT IT HARD!

A useless, ridiculous activity that just got me all pissed off all over again.

I think if there wasn't a chance that I would have to see him again on Tuesday for the divorce hearing, I wouldn't be going there. At least, I hope I wouldn't.

I am, however, planning my wardrobe for Tuesday's appearance. While I really vacillated on what to wear for the criminal proceedings and, up until now, the divorce proceedings, I am sooooo done with all of this crap. I'm thinking that I will actually bring a change of clothes to put on at work before I go over to the courthouse.

How about a big comfy sleep shirt, cut off jeans, and house slippers? Along with a half burned cigarette hanging out of my mouth, my hair arranged in a freshly fucked all-on-end style, and perhaps a half empty can of Coors in my hand? And lots of blue eye shadow. Perhaps applied with a pneumatic air hose.

I'd like to give everyone the honest to god message of "Really??? Really??? Do we actually have ANYTHING to discuss here???"

Since Jackass and Chuckles (STBX and his lawyer) contested the name change by saying that it should be dealt with in the divorce, you can bet your sweet hootenanny that it will either be written into the final paperwork or I will be flicking boogers over my lawyers head in their general direction.

Oh, and I need to go to the courthouse today for more errands as well.

I swear, I want St. Louis County to give me a frequent flyer card, complete with some sort of "Get three parking tickets, your fourth one is free" deal.

Well, I suppose I'd better get looking for that pneumatic air hose. And can someone lend me a can of Coors? I promise, I'll return it.