At one point in this last year, my lawyer told me “You’re going to have to realize that this is something you’re always going to have to live with.” This was her response to my pointing out her incompetence which was wasting my time as I wait for my divorce. My pushing her had nothing to do with psychology and everything to do with getting his name off the title of the house so I could refinance and hopefully not lose my home. Hmmm….still hasn’t happened yet.
This last year has been one long experience in perpetually slipping on the ice and trying to find my feet.
It comes down to the fact of finding “the new normal”.
The “new normal” is the daily struggle of not thinking about what happened right off the bat in the morning. I’m not asking to be oblivious; I’m not asking to forget. I’m just asking my brain to let me get to at least ten am before I feel the weight of it all.
The “new normal” involves watching every single parent-child interaction in public with suspicion.
The “new normal” involves walking through my neighborhood and thinking about all the awful things that are probably going on behind all those closed doors.
The “new normal” involves not speaking his name. A name gives a person power. That is what I have learned over the past year. That is why he has fought our name change so vehemently. Even as a convicted pedophile, he thought he still had power over us by denying our name change. By forcing the kids to keep his name, he was exercising his power over them, even after doing everything, by his choices, to destroy them. One day, when our name change actually happens, we will exercise our power, the power to say “no”. In the mean time, he will remain nameless.
This has caused some interesting verbal exchanges: sentences are left hanging, the air thick with pain and discomfort. “Well, we did it that way because your f…….well, we did it differently back then…we’re going to do it this way now…” It’s a dance. A dance around the center which is filled with so much darkness.
The “new normal” involves scribbling my still legal last name illegibly every time I am forced to write it. It involves repeating it in quiet tones when forced to say it.
The “new normal” involves seeing the humor in my kids as they combine their last names to be “Sharkness”. It’s the one gray area that I can appreciate.
The “new normal” involves seeing a lot of empty cupboard space. Mother Hubbard had nothing on us. I think I could develop a career on the food network sort of like Rachel Ray except my tag line will be “how to pull dinner for two out of your ass when you only have three food-like ingredients in the house.”
The “new normal” means that when I am feeling unsure if I am up to a certain task, I look back on the last year and say to myself “If I could make it through that, I can do anything.”
The "new normal" is at times terrifying, heart wrenching, and wonderful.
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Low Fidelity
Everyday I check to see if I’m divorced yet.
I can sense it. It is getting closer and closer.
Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and he will be pulled in his sleigh by eight lawyers. The team will be led by a red nosed judge, lighting the way through the fog of legalese.
The biggest holiday gift would be a divorce by December 19th, the anniversary of the beginning of the end. I’d also happily accept a divorce by Christmas.
You know, cuz I have so much SAY in the matter.
It’s kind of interesting though. I find myself surrounded by many people who have been commenting on the current Tiger Woods drama and they all seem to be of the mind that “Of course he’s cheating. When you marry a celebrity and you live in the big house with all the diamonds and riches, infidelity is the price you pay for living the high life.”
So, I’m wondering what their excuse is when a normal average joe/jane cheats? When a person isn’t surrounded by beautiful people telling them that they walk on water and there are no crowds of people throwing themselves at the person, when it is an anonymous act of infidelity, is that ok with them too?
I’m really not the person to lay that out on the table as I’m trying not to let the freak flag fly too high. What I feel and frankly, what they feel, is irrelevant. Infidelity comes down to the three (or four or ten or two hundred) people involved.
But my ideas on fidelity seem to be old fashioned. You’re married? Screw away! Chase the skirts, chase the suits, chase any willing human being down and screw them till your blind because being married DOESN’T MATTER.
So then, I propose (pardon the pun), why get married in the first place?
Speaking from the other side, from someone who doesn’t subscribe to the whole infidelity schtick, why would someone put up with a spouse that is unfaithful? I can’t wrap my head around one slip up but I know that perhaps, just perhaps, I’m a bit out of the norm there. OK, your spouse cheated on you and you took them back. Did you at least go to counseling? Did you at least try to figure out why? Or did you just push it under the rug and pretend that it didn’t happen. When you lie in bed with your spouse, do you feel like you’re sharing it with all their recent conquests?
But then, they cheat again. And you take them back. Again.
Now I’m getting really confused.
I just don’t understand the mentality.
But then again? I’d be the screaming meemie swinging the golf club at 2 a.m.
I can sense it. It is getting closer and closer.
Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and he will be pulled in his sleigh by eight lawyers. The team will be led by a red nosed judge, lighting the way through the fog of legalese.
The biggest holiday gift would be a divorce by December 19th, the anniversary of the beginning of the end. I’d also happily accept a divorce by Christmas.
You know, cuz I have so much SAY in the matter.
It’s kind of interesting though. I find myself surrounded by many people who have been commenting on the current Tiger Woods drama and they all seem to be of the mind that “Of course he’s cheating. When you marry a celebrity and you live in the big house with all the diamonds and riches, infidelity is the price you pay for living the high life.”
So, I’m wondering what their excuse is when a normal average joe/jane cheats? When a person isn’t surrounded by beautiful people telling them that they walk on water and there are no crowds of people throwing themselves at the person, when it is an anonymous act of infidelity, is that ok with them too?
I’m really not the person to lay that out on the table as I’m trying not to let the freak flag fly too high. What I feel and frankly, what they feel, is irrelevant. Infidelity comes down to the three (or four or ten or two hundred) people involved.
But my ideas on fidelity seem to be old fashioned. You’re married? Screw away! Chase the skirts, chase the suits, chase any willing human being down and screw them till your blind because being married DOESN’T MATTER.
So then, I propose (pardon the pun), why get married in the first place?
Speaking from the other side, from someone who doesn’t subscribe to the whole infidelity schtick, why would someone put up with a spouse that is unfaithful? I can’t wrap my head around one slip up but I know that perhaps, just perhaps, I’m a bit out of the norm there. OK, your spouse cheated on you and you took them back. Did you at least go to counseling? Did you at least try to figure out why? Or did you just push it under the rug and pretend that it didn’t happen. When you lie in bed with your spouse, do you feel like you’re sharing it with all their recent conquests?
But then, they cheat again. And you take them back. Again.
Now I’m getting really confused.
I just don’t understand the mentality.
But then again? I’d be the screaming meemie swinging the golf club at 2 a.m.
Monday, November 23, 2009
What I Have Learned Thus Far
Dearest S-D-T-B-X (Some Day To Be Ex),
On this most auspicious day, which will no longer be celebrated as our wedding day, I would like to discuss what I have learned about myself in nearly eleven months.
I have learned that we were perfect for each other, in the sickest sense of the phrase.
The last eleven months have made me examine what makes me tick. I have tried to figure out your clockwork mechanisms as well, but that only leads me down blind alley after blind alley.
I only have control over me. I only have control over the few square inches inside my skull. Everything else is a tangle of darkness.
I was the perfect person for you from the time I was three or four years old. I remember thinking the disordered and disjointed thoughts that every child of that age thinks. There has to be reasons for why things happen. Small children don't understand adult problems. When they are given away for their own safety and well being, they don't, on average, go into the entire socioeconomic and psychological benefits that they stand to gain by such an arrangement.
All they know is that they were given away. People give things away that they don't want. Things that are broken. Things that are damaged.
Correct thinking? Not for an adult it isn't. For a small child trying to make sense of the world? Perhaps.
I also remember, as a small child, coming to the realization that if you can give a kid away once, you can do it again.
Would I have ever been given away again? No. Did my child's mind realize that? No.
I remember being consciously aware of being a "good girl" before I even went to kindergarten. Not because I was afraid of being beaten or anything but for the simple fact that, if I was a bad kid I would be sent away.
Here is my foundation, laid bare. I was the kid in school that could be utterly gutted by a look from a teacher. If I didn't get a sticker on my paper in kindergarten and the kid next to me did, I would spend the rest of the day wondering what I had done wrong. (Do kids ever realize that maybe, just maybe, the teacher ran out of stickers?)
And it was always that... "what did I do wrong?"
Kids always place themselves at the center of the universe, that's what being a kid is. Now, place an incredibly insecure kid at the center of the universe and you will note that they will not feel that the sun rises and sets just for them. They will feel that if they don't do every single thing right and take on all the responsibility of the milky way, that everything will go horribly wrong and it will be because they are a screw up.
Anxiety much?
Yeah. Now flash forward a few years. As the child racked with insecurities and anxieties, I was the perfect mark for the pedophile disguised as my aunt's boyfriend. He was a predator and I knew that he had hurt other girls as well. I was just another in a long line but hey, I kept my mouth shut and I learned to stuff it all down inside of me so far that it only came out at night. Night time was when the monsters came whether real or in my head.
It pretty much sealed the deal on the whole anxiety/insecurity/self-esteem thing when I went to college and fell apart so badly that I ended up coming home at the end of the year and disclosing to my aunt.
When she called me a whore and said it was all my fault, it simply proved my hypothesis: I didn't matter.
Now, all of this boo-hooing and navel gazing can be very self indulgent. If I had the chance to go back in time and meet my "inner child", I would no doubt give her a swift slap upside the head. But as I have said, kids and teenagers have their own way of thinking. I don't come to my realizations lightly or with a song in my heart.
I come to my truths as a way of understanding how I could have endured seventeen years with you.
I learned to stuff my feelings from the time that I learned to walk.
Conflict is bad. Disagreements are bad. Having a voice is bad. And standing up on your own two legs when they've both been shattered is impossible.
See, I was the perfect girl for you.
For at least fifteen years of our marriage I put up with it. I put up with doing everything and I let you do nothing. Why? It didn't take many times of being called a bitch or a nag before I reverted back to my mantra: Conflict is bad. Disagreements are bad. Having a voice is bad.
You were the kindergarten teacher giving me the stink eye and I put my head down and said nothing.
You told me that I had no right to be upset about our marriage because you didn't beat me.
And I agreed. And I raised our children and I made our home and you never lifted a finger and you only told us how much we were an annoyance to you.
But I have to agree, you didn't beat me. I guess that means we had a happy marriage by your terms, right? I guess learning about you using a belt on our son after you left was supposed to make me realize what a great dad you were as well. Top that off with molestation and physically pushing your daughter around and I'm thinking that all that means is that you believe you were an absolutely stellar human being.
The last wedding anniversary that we spent together laid bare what I was planning. When I started to take control of my life and myself and lose weight and gain back my self esteem, I knew that I had to leave you. You were nothing but toxic. The kids asked why I stayed and beyond being scared of being homeless, I didn't have a reason.
So I started making plans in my head. Plans that kept me sane when I had to walk into this house and sense your presence like a noxious miasma. There were times when I would stand behind you and fantasize about bringing my cast iron skillet down on the back of your head but frankly, I wouldn't want to chance damaging the skillet.
That's where my head was on our last anniversary together. You suggested we go out for dinner at Blackwoods and you kept asking me what was wrong. The most hilarious thing, in hind sight, is that I'm sure you were trying to figure out if I knew you were cheating on me. Of course I didn't know you were cheating me. If I had, I would have whooped for joy and handed you a suitcase.
Hooray! There are other stupid insecure fucked up women in this world! Go exploit them and leave me alone!
But all I could do was sit there and look off into the distance and dream about a day when I wouldn't have to be around you.
I could have told you a lot of things that day. I could have told you how I hated coming home and existing in the same space as you. I could have told you how I wondered what my reaction would be if you got in a horrible car crash and died. Would I be able to pull of a proper grief reaction when the police came to my door? Or would I be honest for the first time and acknowledge to another human being "Good! I hope he rots in hell."
And to think, this was my story before I ever learned about your true nature. This was my story when all I knew was that you didn't take "no" for an answer at times, which worked out really well for you since abuse survivors have a tendency to freeze and not fight back. That was the story of our first sexual encounter as I recall.
And that is what being an abuse survivor can do to you. Hmmmm. I told him no and he didn't listen and I froze and I just pretended that it didn't happen and then I made the ever so intelligent move of marrying the bastard.
I have had eleven months to rake over these coals and recognize my many failures. I feel alternately like a fool, an idiot, and a dupe.
But I also feel like a survivor. I have learned so much about myself. I am stronger than I ever knew. I am surrounded by people I love and who love me. Life is alternately terrifying and exhilarating and to top it all off, I have the most wonderful kids in the universe.
We're not divorced yet but we will be soon. Since I learned that our paperwork is where it needs to be, finally, the gray fog has lifted from my soul.
In the most sincerest of ironies, the happiest time in all of my eighteen years of marriage to you have been the last eleven months when your absence has been the greatest gift of all.
I hope you're enjoying this day as much as I am!
On this most auspicious day, which will no longer be celebrated as our wedding day, I would like to discuss what I have learned about myself in nearly eleven months.
I have learned that we were perfect for each other, in the sickest sense of the phrase.
The last eleven months have made me examine what makes me tick. I have tried to figure out your clockwork mechanisms as well, but that only leads me down blind alley after blind alley.
I only have control over me. I only have control over the few square inches inside my skull. Everything else is a tangle of darkness.
I was the perfect person for you from the time I was three or four years old. I remember thinking the disordered and disjointed thoughts that every child of that age thinks. There has to be reasons for why things happen. Small children don't understand adult problems. When they are given away for their own safety and well being, they don't, on average, go into the entire socioeconomic and psychological benefits that they stand to gain by such an arrangement.
All they know is that they were given away. People give things away that they don't want. Things that are broken. Things that are damaged.
Correct thinking? Not for an adult it isn't. For a small child trying to make sense of the world? Perhaps.
I also remember, as a small child, coming to the realization that if you can give a kid away once, you can do it again.
Would I have ever been given away again? No. Did my child's mind realize that? No.
I remember being consciously aware of being a "good girl" before I even went to kindergarten. Not because I was afraid of being beaten or anything but for the simple fact that, if I was a bad kid I would be sent away.
Here is my foundation, laid bare. I was the kid in school that could be utterly gutted by a look from a teacher. If I didn't get a sticker on my paper in kindergarten and the kid next to me did, I would spend the rest of the day wondering what I had done wrong. (Do kids ever realize that maybe, just maybe, the teacher ran out of stickers?)
And it was always that... "what did I do wrong?"
Kids always place themselves at the center of the universe, that's what being a kid is. Now, place an incredibly insecure kid at the center of the universe and you will note that they will not feel that the sun rises and sets just for them. They will feel that if they don't do every single thing right and take on all the responsibility of the milky way, that everything will go horribly wrong and it will be because they are a screw up.
Anxiety much?
Yeah. Now flash forward a few years. As the child racked with insecurities and anxieties, I was the perfect mark for the pedophile disguised as my aunt's boyfriend. He was a predator and I knew that he had hurt other girls as well. I was just another in a long line but hey, I kept my mouth shut and I learned to stuff it all down inside of me so far that it only came out at night. Night time was when the monsters came whether real or in my head.
It pretty much sealed the deal on the whole anxiety/insecurity/self-esteem thing when I went to college and fell apart so badly that I ended up coming home at the end of the year and disclosing to my aunt.
When she called me a whore and said it was all my fault, it simply proved my hypothesis: I didn't matter.
Now, all of this boo-hooing and navel gazing can be very self indulgent. If I had the chance to go back in time and meet my "inner child", I would no doubt give her a swift slap upside the head. But as I have said, kids and teenagers have their own way of thinking. I don't come to my realizations lightly or with a song in my heart.
I come to my truths as a way of understanding how I could have endured seventeen years with you.
I learned to stuff my feelings from the time that I learned to walk.
Conflict is bad. Disagreements are bad. Having a voice is bad. And standing up on your own two legs when they've both been shattered is impossible.
See, I was the perfect girl for you.
For at least fifteen years of our marriage I put up with it. I put up with doing everything and I let you do nothing. Why? It didn't take many times of being called a bitch or a nag before I reverted back to my mantra: Conflict is bad. Disagreements are bad. Having a voice is bad.
You were the kindergarten teacher giving me the stink eye and I put my head down and said nothing.
You told me that I had no right to be upset about our marriage because you didn't beat me.
And I agreed. And I raised our children and I made our home and you never lifted a finger and you only told us how much we were an annoyance to you.
But I have to agree, you didn't beat me. I guess that means we had a happy marriage by your terms, right? I guess learning about you using a belt on our son after you left was supposed to make me realize what a great dad you were as well. Top that off with molestation and physically pushing your daughter around and I'm thinking that all that means is that you believe you were an absolutely stellar human being.
The last wedding anniversary that we spent together laid bare what I was planning. When I started to take control of my life and myself and lose weight and gain back my self esteem, I knew that I had to leave you. You were nothing but toxic. The kids asked why I stayed and beyond being scared of being homeless, I didn't have a reason.
So I started making plans in my head. Plans that kept me sane when I had to walk into this house and sense your presence like a noxious miasma. There were times when I would stand behind you and fantasize about bringing my cast iron skillet down on the back of your head but frankly, I wouldn't want to chance damaging the skillet.
That's where my head was on our last anniversary together. You suggested we go out for dinner at Blackwoods and you kept asking me what was wrong. The most hilarious thing, in hind sight, is that I'm sure you were trying to figure out if I knew you were cheating on me. Of course I didn't know you were cheating me. If I had, I would have whooped for joy and handed you a suitcase.
Hooray! There are other stupid insecure fucked up women in this world! Go exploit them and leave me alone!
But all I could do was sit there and look off into the distance and dream about a day when I wouldn't have to be around you.
I could have told you a lot of things that day. I could have told you how I hated coming home and existing in the same space as you. I could have told you how I wondered what my reaction would be if you got in a horrible car crash and died. Would I be able to pull of a proper grief reaction when the police came to my door? Or would I be honest for the first time and acknowledge to another human being "Good! I hope he rots in hell."
And to think, this was my story before I ever learned about your true nature. This was my story when all I knew was that you didn't take "no" for an answer at times, which worked out really well for you since abuse survivors have a tendency to freeze and not fight back. That was the story of our first sexual encounter as I recall.
And that is what being an abuse survivor can do to you. Hmmmm. I told him no and he didn't listen and I froze and I just pretended that it didn't happen and then I made the ever so intelligent move of marrying the bastard.
I have had eleven months to rake over these coals and recognize my many failures. I feel alternately like a fool, an idiot, and a dupe.
But I also feel like a survivor. I have learned so much about myself. I am stronger than I ever knew. I am surrounded by people I love and who love me. Life is alternately terrifying and exhilarating and to top it all off, I have the most wonderful kids in the universe.
We're not divorced yet but we will be soon. Since I learned that our paperwork is where it needs to be, finally, the gray fog has lifted from my soul.
In the most sincerest of ironies, the happiest time in all of my eighteen years of marriage to you have been the last eleven months when your absence has been the greatest gift of all.
I hope you're enjoying this day as much as I am!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A Harkness Family Christmas
Everyday, I check the court records on the internet. I check them to see if chuckles and knucklehead have turned in my divorce paperwork.
Yesterday it wasn't there.
Today, it was.
My divorce papers are now in the hands of St. Louis County.
I was told that it just depends on how busy the judge is as to how fast the papers will get signed. A fair estimate would be a month.
This means that I could be divorced before December 19th. Before the first anniversary of the beginning of this journey.
This means that the Harkness Family might officially and legally be "The Harkness Family" by Christmas.
There is no amount of manufactured crap that you could buy in a store to equal just how fantastic this holiday will be...
Yesterday it wasn't there.
Today, it was.
My divorce papers are now in the hands of St. Louis County.
I was told that it just depends on how busy the judge is as to how fast the papers will get signed. A fair estimate would be a month.
This means that I could be divorced before December 19th. Before the first anniversary of the beginning of this journey.
This means that the Harkness Family might officially and legally be "The Harkness Family" by Christmas.
There is no amount of manufactured crap that you could buy in a store to equal just how fantastic this holiday will be...
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Jesus Will Forgive You, It's His Job
I received the letters yesterday from ding dong's lawyer along with my lawyer's response and those two documents, viewed side by side, actually had me giggling at the absurdity and the complete power imbalance exuding from the two documents.
Previous letters from ding dong's lawyer seemed to emit a testosterone soaked "fuck you" behind every sentence. Perhaps it was just my frame of mind when I read it. Perhaps it was my fear and insecurity. Perhaps there really was a testosterone soaked "fuck you" hidden in there like a magic eye puzzle. Whatever it was, I would read it and shake and spiral and cry.
Well, I do believe things have changed a bit. The letter couldn't have been more whipped if it had been written without any capitalization and had included a frowny faced emoticon at the end.
I could actually sense the frame of mind of the poor legal secretary that had to put that little gem together. I could hear her tsk-tsk-ing and I knew she was thinking "Jesus Christ man, what are you smoking, crack?"
My lawyers response was BEAUTIFUL! I am going to state it here and now that of the 90 billion times I have bitched about lawyers on this blog, this one letter might just redeem 80 billion of those complaints. I may even frame it one day.
She started every paragraph, nearly every sentence, with "Ms. Harkness expects" and "Ms. Harkness feels" and as I had given her my expectations that he would never track us down in the future, she framed those expectations around getting a restraining order to keep him away, if necessary.
She then stated that he has had the signed divorce documents for over a month and has failed to submit them to the court house and he had better GET HIS ASS IN GEAR.
Well, she didn't use the word ass, but it was verrrrry close.
So, I suppose he'll either submit the paperwork or else we'll have to threaten them AGAIN to go to court.
So glad those divorce papers are signed...it has really gotten the process moving...yes, that is sarcasm.
Previous letters from ding dong's lawyer seemed to emit a testosterone soaked "fuck you" behind every sentence. Perhaps it was just my frame of mind when I read it. Perhaps it was my fear and insecurity. Perhaps there really was a testosterone soaked "fuck you" hidden in there like a magic eye puzzle. Whatever it was, I would read it and shake and spiral and cry.
Well, I do believe things have changed a bit. The letter couldn't have been more whipped if it had been written without any capitalization and had included a frowny faced emoticon at the end.
I could actually sense the frame of mind of the poor legal secretary that had to put that little gem together. I could hear her tsk-tsk-ing and I knew she was thinking "Jesus Christ man, what are you smoking, crack?"
My lawyers response was BEAUTIFUL! I am going to state it here and now that of the 90 billion times I have bitched about lawyers on this blog, this one letter might just redeem 80 billion of those complaints. I may even frame it one day.
She started every paragraph, nearly every sentence, with "Ms. Harkness expects" and "Ms. Harkness feels" and as I had given her my expectations that he would never track us down in the future, she framed those expectations around getting a restraining order to keep him away, if necessary.
She then stated that he has had the signed divorce documents for over a month and has failed to submit them to the court house and he had better GET HIS ASS IN GEAR.
Well, she didn't use the word ass, but it was verrrrry close.
So, I suppose he'll either submit the paperwork or else we'll have to threaten them AGAIN to go to court.
So glad those divorce papers are signed...it has really gotten the process moving...yes, that is sarcasm.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
How Not To Pick Up Guys
A few days ago I enjoyed a flirtatious encounter with a guy and as I was recounting it to a friend, she was laughing at how happy it made me but then became deadly serious.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "You didn't tell him you know...anything about yourself... did you?"
Why yes, as a matter of fact, I've discovered that a really successful way of picking up guys is to tell them that you're not quite divorced yet from your husband who is serving hard time in prison for being a pedophile.
Yeah, stand back ladies, I'm like chum in the water and the sharks can't get enough of me.
I did stumble a bit as I was chatting away with this Very Gorgeous Guy. (This is a guy that I have noticed for YEARS and always thought that he was gorgeous but funny thing is, I actually think you shouldn't cheat when you're married.) I was talking about my kids and my pets and we were laughing and having a good time when he spied my hand with no wedding ring and said "You're talking about your kids but you haven't mentioned anyone else at home like....a husband?"
Keep in mind, this was before I signed the divorce papers.
Keep in mind, I am pathologically honest and don't like misleading people or playing head games.
Keep in mind that I am not the brightest bulb on the Christmas Tree.
"Oh," I said with false bravado. "I lost him."
I guess that wasn't the socially acceptable thing to say because Very Gorgeous Guy suddenly looked all sad and serious.
"Oh I'm sorry," he put his hand on his heart. "Was it illness or an accident?"
"Ummmmm, neither. It's a rather long and complicated divorce..." my voice trailed off into tiny scribbles.
"Oh, well, sorry that you had to go through that," he managed to regain his footing eloquently.
"I'm not sorry!" I chirped psychotically. "It's fan-TAS-tic!"
Yeah, I'm guessing that, as I walked away he probably nudged his friend and pointed me out. "See that lady? She's going to be single for a looooooong time..."
"Oh my god," she whispered. "You didn't tell him you know...anything about yourself... did you?"
Why yes, as a matter of fact, I've discovered that a really successful way of picking up guys is to tell them that you're not quite divorced yet from your husband who is serving hard time in prison for being a pedophile.
Yeah, stand back ladies, I'm like chum in the water and the sharks can't get enough of me.
I did stumble a bit as I was chatting away with this Very Gorgeous Guy. (This is a guy that I have noticed for YEARS and always thought that he was gorgeous but funny thing is, I actually think you shouldn't cheat when you're married.) I was talking about my kids and my pets and we were laughing and having a good time when he spied my hand with no wedding ring and said "You're talking about your kids but you haven't mentioned anyone else at home like....a husband?"
Keep in mind, this was before I signed the divorce papers.
Keep in mind, I am pathologically honest and don't like misleading people or playing head games.
Keep in mind that I am not the brightest bulb on the Christmas Tree.
"Oh," I said with false bravado. "I lost him."
I guess that wasn't the socially acceptable thing to say because Very Gorgeous Guy suddenly looked all sad and serious.
"Oh I'm sorry," he put his hand on his heart. "Was it illness or an accident?"
"Ummmmm, neither. It's a rather long and complicated divorce..." my voice trailed off into tiny scribbles.
"Oh, well, sorry that you had to go through that," he managed to regain his footing eloquently.
"I'm not sorry!" I chirped psychotically. "It's fan-TAS-tic!"
Yeah, I'm guessing that, as I walked away he probably nudged his friend and pointed me out. "See that lady? She's going to be single for a looooooong time..."
Thursday, September 24, 2009
You Can't Get To Heaven On Roller Skates
Today may very well end up being one of those days where you find yourself wearing roller skates at the very top of Lake Avenue and as you stand there, admiring the view of the city, wondering for a moment why in the hell you're wearing roller skates, the slightest of breezes ruffles your hair and nudges you forward one micrometer.
And it's all downhill from there. Next stop? Lake Superior.
Except you'll probably be killed in some construction zone somewhere along the way. Hey! At least you'll be crushed by heavy machinery before you can drown!
Always look on the bright side of life.
From presentations to lawyer visits to luncheons and meeting up with friends after work for "Birthday 2.0", I'm tired and I haven't even started yet.
I suppose waking up at 3 a.m didn't help but I couldn't resist. Do you remember what it was like when you were a kid and still believed in Santa? Remember that feeling of pure excitement that you got on Christmas morning right before you went downstairs to discover that yes, you were indeed the kid who got clothes for Christmas? That's what I woke up with this morning.
The feeling of potential energy. The buildup of excitement.
The "one eye open, one eye closed hand out to protect the face before you get hit with a crushing blow" kind of posture that could have one of two outcomes: Either your attacker decides that you're too pathetic to hit and walks away or else you get nailed.
Yes, I am filled with competing emotions. I want to believe that I will be able to walk into the lawyers office today and sign my name on the dotted line.
I am clicking my heels. I am paying no heed to the man behind the prison bars.
But there's always that creeping sensation that it's too good to be true. I can imagine the fine print to say "She has the right to change her name to 'the fucking whore that held me accountable for my actions and ruined my life'".
And frankly, that would be a little long to fit on my new passport.
And it's all downhill from there. Next stop? Lake Superior.
Except you'll probably be killed in some construction zone somewhere along the way. Hey! At least you'll be crushed by heavy machinery before you can drown!
Always look on the bright side of life.
From presentations to lawyer visits to luncheons and meeting up with friends after work for "Birthday 2.0", I'm tired and I haven't even started yet.
I suppose waking up at 3 a.m didn't help but I couldn't resist. Do you remember what it was like when you were a kid and still believed in Santa? Remember that feeling of pure excitement that you got on Christmas morning right before you went downstairs to discover that yes, you were indeed the kid who got clothes for Christmas? That's what I woke up with this morning.
The feeling of potential energy. The buildup of excitement.
The "one eye open, one eye closed hand out to protect the face before you get hit with a crushing blow" kind of posture that could have one of two outcomes: Either your attacker decides that you're too pathetic to hit and walks away or else you get nailed.
Yes, I am filled with competing emotions. I want to believe that I will be able to walk into the lawyers office today and sign my name on the dotted line.
I am clicking my heels. I am paying no heed to the man behind the prison bars.
But there's always that creeping sensation that it's too good to be true. I can imagine the fine print to say "She has the right to change her name to 'the fucking whore that held me accountable for my actions and ruined my life'".
And frankly, that would be a little long to fit on my new passport.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Not Walking But Dancing
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Flashiest of News
I really need to buy a lottery ticket.
I had lunch with friends and when one asked what I wanted for my birthday, I told her "a divorce and a family name change".
Within five minutes, I got a call from my lawyer.
I now have an appointment to read the settlement and make sure all the t's are crossed and the i's dotted. For some strange reason, the prospect of showing up in court while wearing shackles and having to listen to your children testify against you has made him decide that perhaps, just perhaps, he needs to SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Three months in prison must concentrate the mind intensly. *You have no power here.*
Happy Birthday to me.
Happy name change for us.
I had lunch with friends and when one asked what I wanted for my birthday, I told her "a divorce and a family name change".
Within five minutes, I got a call from my lawyer.
I now have an appointment to read the settlement and make sure all the t's are crossed and the i's dotted. For some strange reason, the prospect of showing up in court while wearing shackles and having to listen to your children testify against you has made him decide that perhaps, just perhaps, he needs to SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Three months in prison must concentrate the mind intensly. *You have no power here.*
Happy Birthday to me.
Happy name change for us.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Most Sincerest Of Happy Birthday Greetings
Many people use their birthdays as a time of reflection: What have I done with my life? Am I where I thought I would be at this time? What have I done to change the world? Have I attained the dreams that I dreamt? Am I working on PLAN A? B? M? Z?
Well, today is STBX's 46th birthday.
I wonder what you get for your birthday while in prison? An extra waffle for breakfast? Extra jack off time in the shower? A kiss and a peck and a hug around the neck from your cell mate? An extra helping of kiddie porn under your pillow from the kiddie porn fairy?
One positive thing.
Perhaps searching your 46 years for one positive thing that you have contributed to society.
My kids asked me, a few months ago if I regreted ever having met him and being boxed into that corner was a tad uncomfortable. How can I say yes if I am looking at two beautiful children that unfortunately shared his DNA.
"I can't say that I regret it because I have you and I love you with all my heart and soul. I regret not having the strength to realize that he was incapable of love. I regret not realizing that I should have left earlier and realized that a homeless shelter would have been better than life under his roof. I regret not having the strength to realize that it was not just me that he was hurting."
"But," my daughter assured me, "We would have come along somehow. We would have found you."
"Well, putting it that way? Of course I wish I had never met him."
We all have legacies that we leave behind on this earth. Some are immdediate, some are echoes that reverberate throughout generations.
All I ask is this one thing: Give me one positive thing that you have ever done.
Well, today is STBX's 46th birthday.
I wonder what you get for your birthday while in prison? An extra waffle for breakfast? Extra jack off time in the shower? A kiss and a peck and a hug around the neck from your cell mate? An extra helping of kiddie porn under your pillow from the kiddie porn fairy?
One positive thing.
Perhaps searching your 46 years for one positive thing that you have contributed to society.
My kids asked me, a few months ago if I regreted ever having met him and being boxed into that corner was a tad uncomfortable. How can I say yes if I am looking at two beautiful children that unfortunately shared his DNA.
"I can't say that I regret it because I have you and I love you with all my heart and soul. I regret not having the strength to realize that he was incapable of love. I regret not realizing that I should have left earlier and realized that a homeless shelter would have been better than life under his roof. I regret not having the strength to realize that it was not just me that he was hurting."
"But," my daughter assured me, "We would have come along somehow. We would have found you."
"Well, putting it that way? Of course I wish I had never met him."
We all have legacies that we leave behind on this earth. Some are immdediate, some are echoes that reverberate throughout generations.
All I ask is this one thing: Give me one positive thing that you have ever done.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
My Book Report- Conclusions
As I stated a few weeks ago, I'm still getting used to people who recognize me through the blog or the the newspaper article. I don't mean to be slow on the uptake, there was just that incident when I was a baby and I got dropped on my head.
So, to the several people at the grocery store over the past couple weeks and the waitress, and the gal at the Farmer's Market and the postal worker, thank you for sharing your stories with me. It's made me even more aware of the stories that we carry around under the surface of our skin. There are so many of us out there.
I've finished Out of the Shadows and I'm getting ready to pass it on to someone else. It pissed me off but I'm glad I read it.
There were reactions in the book from spouses that I totally identified with but there were also conclusions drawn that missed the mark, at least in my case.
I think, once again, it came down to a book that didn't match my situation. It really hammered home the idea of the co addict who assisted in the "addiction" by covering up for the spouse's issues. It also talked about spouses who are controlling because they feel so out of control.
Does the fact that 99% of all the chores and responsibilities in our marriage fell on my shoulders in turn make me controlling? Had I not done them, they would not have gotten done. Whenever I asked for help in doing something, STBX blew me off with sarcasm and turned back to his computer.
If this indeed means that I was controlling, can I ask what my options were? Or does controlling mean that a spouse tries to manipulate her "addict's" behavior by keeping him busy so he won't cruise the bars and pick up prostitutes?
The only control I had was over myself and I realized that long ago. STBX didn't want a wife, he wanted a mommy. Women who play that role for their husbands DRIVE ME AROUND THE BEND.
The book did mention how a common theme for "addicts" is that they want a woman who is nothing like their mother and then they spend years hating her because she isn't their mother.
I underlined that paragraph. Perhaps two or three times. That is the perfect description of the last 17 years of my life.
Before we got married, STBX told me "I'm so glad you're nothing like my mother."
Hindsight can be so funny. It makes me want to puke.
Where I disagreed with the book most heartily was when it was stated that a co addict is the same as the addict in that they feel they have no self worth and are unlovable.
Yeah, I'm not going there at all. I realized a long time ago that I did not deserve the shit that I was fed. It turned out to be many years of being isolated and manipulated and I became very angry. Unfortunately, after being rebuffed enough times when it came to talking about these things, I gave up. I began to mark my time and plan my escape.
Funnily enough, my revelations all happened after the abuse stopped. Not the brightest bulb, I will admit.
As I stated before, this book is for the "addict", not the survivors. Nowhere, and I mean NOWHERE in this book does it talk about families breaking up over this. Every scenario leads the spouse and children to therapy with the perp and they allllll live happily ever after.
Yeah. STBX was never able to take in information and actually apply it to a new situation. He could parrot those that he shared their beliefs but to actually digest a book and apply it to the reality of his situation, well, that would just lead to a court statement that was painted in rainbows and tethered to clouds.
There are about five sentences or so in this book that state the possibility of "legal action" for some things that "addicts" do. Perhaps this is to refrain from scaring perps away.
It is, however, not grounded in reality.
Not my reality at least.
So, to the several people at the grocery store over the past couple weeks and the waitress, and the gal at the Farmer's Market and the postal worker, thank you for sharing your stories with me. It's made me even more aware of the stories that we carry around under the surface of our skin. There are so many of us out there.
I've finished Out of the Shadows and I'm getting ready to pass it on to someone else. It pissed me off but I'm glad I read it.
There were reactions in the book from spouses that I totally identified with but there were also conclusions drawn that missed the mark, at least in my case.
I think, once again, it came down to a book that didn't match my situation. It really hammered home the idea of the co addict who assisted in the "addiction" by covering up for the spouse's issues. It also talked about spouses who are controlling because they feel so out of control.
Does the fact that 99% of all the chores and responsibilities in our marriage fell on my shoulders in turn make me controlling? Had I not done them, they would not have gotten done. Whenever I asked for help in doing something, STBX blew me off with sarcasm and turned back to his computer.
If this indeed means that I was controlling, can I ask what my options were? Or does controlling mean that a spouse tries to manipulate her "addict's" behavior by keeping him busy so he won't cruise the bars and pick up prostitutes?
The only control I had was over myself and I realized that long ago. STBX didn't want a wife, he wanted a mommy. Women who play that role for their husbands DRIVE ME AROUND THE BEND.
The book did mention how a common theme for "addicts" is that they want a woman who is nothing like their mother and then they spend years hating her because she isn't their mother.
I underlined that paragraph. Perhaps two or three times. That is the perfect description of the last 17 years of my life.
Before we got married, STBX told me "I'm so glad you're nothing like my mother."
Hindsight can be so funny. It makes me want to puke.
Where I disagreed with the book most heartily was when it was stated that a co addict is the same as the addict in that they feel they have no self worth and are unlovable.
Yeah, I'm not going there at all. I realized a long time ago that I did not deserve the shit that I was fed. It turned out to be many years of being isolated and manipulated and I became very angry. Unfortunately, after being rebuffed enough times when it came to talking about these things, I gave up. I began to mark my time and plan my escape.
Funnily enough, my revelations all happened after the abuse stopped. Not the brightest bulb, I will admit.
As I stated before, this book is for the "addict", not the survivors. Nowhere, and I mean NOWHERE in this book does it talk about families breaking up over this. Every scenario leads the spouse and children to therapy with the perp and they allllll live happily ever after.
Yeah. STBX was never able to take in information and actually apply it to a new situation. He could parrot those that he shared their beliefs but to actually digest a book and apply it to the reality of his situation, well, that would just lead to a court statement that was painted in rainbows and tethered to clouds.
There are about five sentences or so in this book that state the possibility of "legal action" for some things that "addicts" do. Perhaps this is to refrain from scaring perps away.
It is, however, not grounded in reality.
Not my reality at least.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Maybe I'll Even Carry A Scooby Doo Lunchbox On Campus!
It's amazing what a little forward momentum can do for mental health.
I had tried to tell myself, before the sentencing, that it was out of my control and all we could do was read our statements and accept whatever the verdict happened to be.
Yeah, that's what I TOLD myself. I don't know if I ever really accepted it or not.
But now, the whole divorce thing and name change is so much sound and fury, signifying nothing. If he thinks that his little grip on the last straw of our lives will throw us for a loop, he's sadly mistaken. It will not change where he is. It will not change the fact that the kids will change their names when they are 18 should they need to, it will not change the fact that, should he actually give a damn about his kids and their mental health, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place.
So we change our names in every respect but in the courts until the Gods of Law and Justice prevail. They are temporarily out back huffing gold paint. They will be returning soon, full of fumes and fury, and we will eventually prevail.
IN THE MEAN TIME, the stickiest of wickets has fallen as I went ahead and applied for college and will start taking online classes in January. The whole "holding up the divorce" thing was just frying my brain and I thought that being married still would screw everything up for financial aid.
Guess what? There was actually an option on the financial aid application for "Still married to an imprisoned pedophile who is being an utter dickhead but I will soon be leaving that loser in the dust".
Well, actually it just said "separated" but I kinda read my own life into that one word answer.
I spoke with the University that I hope to go to one day and they gave me great advice on taking classes elsewhere that are cheaper and online and totally transferable. After I take every single transferable class, I can then start looking into what classes I need to take on their campus. The guy was totally supportive of my nervousness at having been out of school for so long and told me that taking the transferable classes will let me get back into the swing of things at a cheaper rate and a bit of a gentler pace.
He then mentioned that I will need to take calculus and stats for the degree that I want.
I waited until I got off the phone to start laughing hysterically.
Thank God my son is Poindexter! He thought teaching me to program the DVD player was a pain in the ass, just wait till I ask him to be my math tutor!
I had tried to tell myself, before the sentencing, that it was out of my control and all we could do was read our statements and accept whatever the verdict happened to be.
Yeah, that's what I TOLD myself. I don't know if I ever really accepted it or not.
But now, the whole divorce thing and name change is so much sound and fury, signifying nothing. If he thinks that his little grip on the last straw of our lives will throw us for a loop, he's sadly mistaken. It will not change where he is. It will not change the fact that the kids will change their names when they are 18 should they need to, it will not change the fact that, should he actually give a damn about his kids and their mental health, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place.
So we change our names in every respect but in the courts until the Gods of Law and Justice prevail. They are temporarily out back huffing gold paint. They will be returning soon, full of fumes and fury, and we will eventually prevail.
IN THE MEAN TIME, the stickiest of wickets has fallen as I went ahead and applied for college and will start taking online classes in January. The whole "holding up the divorce" thing was just frying my brain and I thought that being married still would screw everything up for financial aid.
Guess what? There was actually an option on the financial aid application for "Still married to an imprisoned pedophile who is being an utter dickhead but I will soon be leaving that loser in the dust".
Well, actually it just said "separated" but I kinda read my own life into that one word answer.
I spoke with the University that I hope to go to one day and they gave me great advice on taking classes elsewhere that are cheaper and online and totally transferable. After I take every single transferable class, I can then start looking into what classes I need to take on their campus. The guy was totally supportive of my nervousness at having been out of school for so long and told me that taking the transferable classes will let me get back into the swing of things at a cheaper rate and a bit of a gentler pace.
He then mentioned that I will need to take calculus and stats for the degree that I want.
I waited until I got off the phone to start laughing hysterically.
Thank God my son is Poindexter! He thought teaching me to program the DVD player was a pain in the ass, just wait till I ask him to be my math tutor!
Monday, July 06, 2009
The Perfect Man
I don't rest well.
Even when I feel like crap, I find myself lying down for awhile and then getting up to do "stuff".
And then lying back down again when the room gets a little too squiffy.
This morning was spent on the phone with the phone company. The last great bastion that I had yet to conquer. The account was still in STBX's name. Technically, I shouldn't have been able to make changes in it, although I did get our number changed when his bill collectors came a calling.
But to add services or change them, I had to get his "permission".
And although I told them exactly where they could find him, (and what part of my anatomy they could kiss in the mean time), the only way to change or close the account would be if I got an attorney involved.
Ummm. Yeah....about that? It'll be a cold day in hell when I'm getting a lawyer to do anything as trivial as this.
So instead of closing "his" account, I had to open my own account. With my new name, THANK YOU! They didn't seem to care that it wasn't "official" yet and putting it in my new name felt pretty damn good.
And the old account? With "his" name on it? Well, that will just keep getting billed to him...and when it doesn't get paid, it will just go to collections.
Moving things over to the new name has been my way of maintaining my sanity. I have never felt so "owned" by another individual as I have since he contested the name change and tried to get it taken out of the divorce. Until I can go forward legally, I'm investigating getting our social security numbers changed so that when we move, we will be able to really disappear.
Do you realize how many things your social security number is tied to? Everyday, it hits me anew. Shit! That means I have to do this... or that... or the other...
Taxes, college transcripts, medical information, social security payments which will kick in when I'm 70 and six days from death, banking, credit, mortgages, and two hundred and eleventy other things.
For some reason though, having something to DO while I wait for the next shoe to drop makes me feel a little less powerless.
And if nothing else, the kids will be able to legally change their names before he leaves prison.
My daughter did get me one thing while we were at Convergence that I will be putting in my office at work...
We refer to him as their "new daddy".
Let's face it, he's perfect! He can sing, he can dance, and I'll bet he can even cook!
And if he ever annoys me, I can just rip his fucking little head off and no one will have to suffer...
Even when I feel like crap, I find myself lying down for awhile and then getting up to do "stuff".
And then lying back down again when the room gets a little too squiffy.
This morning was spent on the phone with the phone company. The last great bastion that I had yet to conquer. The account was still in STBX's name. Technically, I shouldn't have been able to make changes in it, although I did get our number changed when his bill collectors came a calling.
But to add services or change them, I had to get his "permission".
And although I told them exactly where they could find him, (and what part of my anatomy they could kiss in the mean time), the only way to change or close the account would be if I got an attorney involved.
Ummm. Yeah....about that? It'll be a cold day in hell when I'm getting a lawyer to do anything as trivial as this.
So instead of closing "his" account, I had to open my own account. With my new name, THANK YOU! They didn't seem to care that it wasn't "official" yet and putting it in my new name felt pretty damn good.
And the old account? With "his" name on it? Well, that will just keep getting billed to him...and when it doesn't get paid, it will just go to collections.
Moving things over to the new name has been my way of maintaining my sanity. I have never felt so "owned" by another individual as I have since he contested the name change and tried to get it taken out of the divorce. Until I can go forward legally, I'm investigating getting our social security numbers changed so that when we move, we will be able to really disappear.
Do you realize how many things your social security number is tied to? Everyday, it hits me anew. Shit! That means I have to do this... or that... or the other...
Taxes, college transcripts, medical information, social security payments which will kick in when I'm 70 and six days from death, banking, credit, mortgages, and two hundred and eleventy other things.
For some reason though, having something to DO while I wait for the next shoe to drop makes me feel a little less powerless.
And if nothing else, the kids will be able to legally change their names before he leaves prison.
My daughter did get me one thing while we were at Convergence that I will be putting in my office at work...
We refer to him as their "new daddy".
Let's face it, he's perfect! He can sing, he can dance, and I'll bet he can even cook!
And if he ever annoys me, I can just rip his fucking little head off and no one will have to suffer...
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Fucking You From The Big House
So, the story goes like this...
STBX get's his lawyer to pull our hearing off the docket and then the lawyer sends settlement papers to my lawyer.
Agreeing to everything except, mysteriously, forgetting anything and everything about the name change.
When my lawyer called his lawyer today, he said that STBX would not agree to the name change.
"I can molest you and I can beat you down and I can make you feel stupid and irrelevant for every day of your life. And you'll keep my name and like it."
Can you imagine that his sister still thinks he's some poor lost soul? He's just such a sad little victim in all this...
Next stop? Full blown divorce court. It will not be up to STBX nor his fucking lawyer to decide what last name the children have.
I knew I should have shot him and dismembered his obese corpse while I had the chance! God Damn therapists and their non violent methods!
STBX get's his lawyer to pull our hearing off the docket and then the lawyer sends settlement papers to my lawyer.
Agreeing to everything except, mysteriously, forgetting anything and everything about the name change.
When my lawyer called his lawyer today, he said that STBX would not agree to the name change.
"I can molest you and I can beat you down and I can make you feel stupid and irrelevant for every day of your life. And you'll keep my name and like it."
Can you imagine that his sister still thinks he's some poor lost soul? He's just such a sad little victim in all this...
Next stop? Full blown divorce court. It will not be up to STBX nor his fucking lawyer to decide what last name the children have.
I knew I should have shot him and dismembered his obese corpse while I had the chance! God Damn therapists and their non violent methods!
My Soul Will Take A Big Mac And Fries
I've had three people in the last week ask me, after finding out what my kids are doing to wash all this crap outta their heads, what I am doing for myself.
We are going to Convergence this weekend, but I wouldn't really do that unless my kids wanted to. It will be a long tiring weekend and I'm sure I'll show up to work on Monday tired and exhausted and cranky so, not really sure it counts as something I'm doing for myself.
Since I'm already using my vacation time this summer for a trip back to Michigan, I'm looking forward to banking my vacation time for awhile and perhaps looking into getting a scholarship for an Outward Bound adventure next summer. I would love to move back to Maine someday and I spent enough time sailing off the coast of Maine to know that it's something that feeds my soul.
But for right now, especially after his lawyer cancelled the divorce hearing yesterday, I apparently have miles to go before I sleep.
We are going to Convergence this weekend, but I wouldn't really do that unless my kids wanted to. It will be a long tiring weekend and I'm sure I'll show up to work on Monday tired and exhausted and cranky so, not really sure it counts as something I'm doing for myself.
Since I'm already using my vacation time this summer for a trip back to Michigan, I'm looking forward to banking my vacation time for awhile and perhaps looking into getting a scholarship for an Outward Bound adventure next summer. I would love to move back to Maine someday and I spent enough time sailing off the coast of Maine to know that it's something that feeds my soul.
But for right now, especially after his lawyer cancelled the divorce hearing yesterday, I apparently have miles to go before I sleep.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Adjudicate This!
Do you ever just get sick and damn tired of having your chain jerked?
I checked the court calendar this morning at 6:30 and our divorce hearing wasn't listed. When I called the court administrator this morning, she told me that it had been cancelled and the notation was "hope to settle".
Thing is, no one told me this.
Perhaps my lawyer didn't know? Can one side of a divorce action up and cancel a court date without telling the other side? Doesn't seem likely.
Which would mean that it sure would be nice if someone told me what the hell was going on.
STBX is still in town, does that mean he could sign divorce papers? I found out that I can track where he is located here before he goes into the prison system and here after he arrives. He will be heading to St. Cloud first and then who knows where. The sadly humorous thing is that all of his piss assed hateful requests during this divorce, meant only to hurt and delay the process, just might end up making a big fat headache for his lawyer. I can't imagine that it makes the divorce process any easier when you have to track your client down through the prison system.
Then again, delays also suck for me.
The criminal court process totally discounts the rights of the victim to know updated information regarding changes in court dates, et cetera but frankly, the fact that I had to find all this divorce crap out for myself and at 8 pm, I still haven't heard back from my lawyer when tomorrow was our court date, is ridiculous.
There is a seventh circle in hell, reserved strictly for lawyers.
Now, what the hell am I going to do with all this blue eye shadow???
I checked the court calendar this morning at 6:30 and our divorce hearing wasn't listed. When I called the court administrator this morning, she told me that it had been cancelled and the notation was "hope to settle".
Thing is, no one told me this.
Perhaps my lawyer didn't know? Can one side of a divorce action up and cancel a court date without telling the other side? Doesn't seem likely.
Which would mean that it sure would be nice if someone told me what the hell was going on.
STBX is still in town, does that mean he could sign divorce papers? I found out that I can track where he is located here before he goes into the prison system and here after he arrives. He will be heading to St. Cloud first and then who knows where. The sadly humorous thing is that all of his piss assed hateful requests during this divorce, meant only to hurt and delay the process, just might end up making a big fat headache for his lawyer. I can't imagine that it makes the divorce process any easier when you have to track your client down through the prison system.
Then again, delays also suck for me.
The criminal court process totally discounts the rights of the victim to know updated information regarding changes in court dates, et cetera but frankly, the fact that I had to find all this divorce crap out for myself and at 8 pm, I still haven't heard back from my lawyer when tomorrow was our court date, is ridiculous.
There is a seventh circle in hell, reserved strictly for lawyers.
Now, what the hell am I going to do with all this blue eye shadow???
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.
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.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
This Elephant Ain't Gonna Eat Itself
I'm realizing that I've been living off a list for six months, or perhaps an outline. Large, overarching goals with a million and one different tasks below each, every goal contingent upon the completion of the one above it.
It's been this list that's kept my head on straight. Whenever I stand back and look at the big picture, I collapse to my knees. I have to stay focused on the next goal, the next rung on the ladder.
Tuesday is another divorce hearing. As much as I am rolling my eyes at the stupidity of it all now, the fact is, I need this to be finalized before I can investigate going back to school and applying for financial aid.
And I need to be able to go back to school in order to have any hope of being marketable on a nation wide job search.
And I need to get a decent job in order to get away from here.
And I need to get far away from here in order to wipe the slate clean; in order to disappear into the crowd without even looking back.
Today has been me, trying to reign in the horses. Trying to convince myself that sticking to the plan of staying in town for three more years and allowing the kids to graduate and me to finish my degree is the wisest decision. Trying to convince myself that living low to the earth, trying to pay off debt and bills, trying to stay focused and move forward is the way to go.
And then I listen to my daughter, blasting this from upstairs and all I want to do is find that crowd, far away from here, and disappear into it without even looking back.
It's been this list that's kept my head on straight. Whenever I stand back and look at the big picture, I collapse to my knees. I have to stay focused on the next goal, the next rung on the ladder.
Tuesday is another divorce hearing. As much as I am rolling my eyes at the stupidity of it all now, the fact is, I need this to be finalized before I can investigate going back to school and applying for financial aid.
And I need to be able to go back to school in order to have any hope of being marketable on a nation wide job search.
And I need to get a decent job in order to get away from here.
And I need to get far away from here in order to wipe the slate clean; in order to disappear into the crowd without even looking back.
Today has been me, trying to reign in the horses. Trying to convince myself that sticking to the plan of staying in town for three more years and allowing the kids to graduate and me to finish my degree is the wisest decision. Trying to convince myself that living low to the earth, trying to pay off debt and bills, trying to stay focused and move forward is the way to go.
And then I listen to my daughter, blasting this from upstairs and all I want to do is find that crowd, far away from here, and disappear into it without even looking back.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Nattering Gobbledegook
It's been coming up a lot lately with both of my kids.
"What do I say when people ask me about my dad."
"What do I say when people ask me where my dad is."
There are no easy answers. Human beings are a decidedly curious lot. Saying "My parents are divorced and I don't see my dad," will lead to questions about the divorce and one question will lead to another down a very uncomfortable winding staircase that leads to a very black basement.
No kid should have to dredge up this shit just because someone else is curious, whether innocently or not.
So of course, I'm trying to brainstorm some responses for them. That's why I'm a stellar parent...
1. My dad is currently being housed under the kind and affectionate auspices of St. Louis County/The State of Minnesota (we'll know which one on Friday morning).
2. Ever see Invasion of the Body Snatchers? I'm a pod person. I come from an alien seed and a well turned compost pile.
3. I'm in the witness protection program. I really can't discuss this.
4. I was the ninth Gosselin child. I was emancipated at the age of 4 and written out of the show when I complained about being paraded around like an animal at the zoo.
5. My father died ten years before I was born. Yes. He was a Time Lord. (Sorry, a little healthy fantasy there...)
Suggestions are welcome. It will be an evolving list for them for, oh perhaps, the rest of their lives?
Another proof of my stellar parenting abilities is the fact that I allowed my son to drop out of a "leadership camp" after one day. I'm not sure if this is the same people that run the Northland Foundation's Kid's Plus group, but he had a similar experience to my daughter when she went there.
She called it the Young Republican's Club.
Whatever their political bent is, my kids are far too cynical and out of the mainstream to put up with a guy in a headset, talking waaaay to loud, with piped in 80's music and a poorly put together visual presentation. There were many hours of "ice breakers" and a posse of Melba toast privileged white kids, all being guided by adults who continuously made stereotypical comments about teenagers ("Yeah, I know you all hate your parents..." was one of the comments that put my son over the edge).
The purpose of the week long camp is to create leadership and team building. I guess they were all big on the fact that before the week was over, the kids would go to the Salvation Army and volunteer. You know, like Jane Goodall...they would actually be able to observe poor people...in their natural habitat!
My son, on his own volition, decided to get a volunteering job at a local soup kitchen this summer. He wanted to learn culinary skills and build his resume. He's fifteen.
Yeah, and he recognizes spoiled white kids when he sees them.
All I can say in my defense was, I wanted him to take advantage of a hopefully good opportunity. That's what I'll be telling him when he has flashbacks to yesterday at the age of forty.
The funniest thing was when he and a friend were filling out an "ice breaker" game and the phrase they had to finish was "My mom/dad is..."
I guess the rest of the kids said things like "supportive" and "loving". My son's friend said "a lesbian" and my son was tempted to say "in prison".
There are some crowds that you should feel proud when you don't fit in.
"What do I say when people ask me about my dad."
"What do I say when people ask me where my dad is."
There are no easy answers. Human beings are a decidedly curious lot. Saying "My parents are divorced and I don't see my dad," will lead to questions about the divorce and one question will lead to another down a very uncomfortable winding staircase that leads to a very black basement.
No kid should have to dredge up this shit just because someone else is curious, whether innocently or not.
So of course, I'm trying to brainstorm some responses for them. That's why I'm a stellar parent...
1. My dad is currently being housed under the kind and affectionate auspices of St. Louis County/The State of Minnesota (we'll know which one on Friday morning).
2. Ever see Invasion of the Body Snatchers? I'm a pod person. I come from an alien seed and a well turned compost pile.
3. I'm in the witness protection program. I really can't discuss this.
4. I was the ninth Gosselin child. I was emancipated at the age of 4 and written out of the show when I complained about being paraded around like an animal at the zoo.
5. My father died ten years before I was born. Yes. He was a Time Lord. (Sorry, a little healthy fantasy there...)
Suggestions are welcome. It will be an evolving list for them for, oh perhaps, the rest of their lives?
Another proof of my stellar parenting abilities is the fact that I allowed my son to drop out of a "leadership camp" after one day. I'm not sure if this is the same people that run the Northland Foundation's Kid's Plus group, but he had a similar experience to my daughter when she went there.
She called it the Young Republican's Club.
Whatever their political bent is, my kids are far too cynical and out of the mainstream to put up with a guy in a headset, talking waaaay to loud, with piped in 80's music and a poorly put together visual presentation. There were many hours of "ice breakers" and a posse of Melba toast privileged white kids, all being guided by adults who continuously made stereotypical comments about teenagers ("Yeah, I know you all hate your parents..." was one of the comments that put my son over the edge).
The purpose of the week long camp is to create leadership and team building. I guess they were all big on the fact that before the week was over, the kids would go to the Salvation Army and volunteer. You know, like Jane Goodall...they would actually be able to observe poor people...in their natural habitat!
My son, on his own volition, decided to get a volunteering job at a local soup kitchen this summer. He wanted to learn culinary skills and build his resume. He's fifteen.
Yeah, and he recognizes spoiled white kids when he sees them.
All I can say in my defense was, I wanted him to take advantage of a hopefully good opportunity. That's what I'll be telling him when he has flashbacks to yesterday at the age of forty.
The funniest thing was when he and a friend were filling out an "ice breaker" game and the phrase they had to finish was "My mom/dad is..."
I guess the rest of the kids said things like "supportive" and "loving". My son's friend said "a lesbian" and my son was tempted to say "in prison".
There are some crowds that you should feel proud when you don't fit in.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Let's See Disney Make THIS Into A Movie
Little girls have dreams.
Whether they are prancing around in their princess costumes or hanging upside down from the apple tree in the backyard, they have dreams about their future.
I ALWAYS dreamed that I would never be married to a convicted felon.
From the time that I was putting on dress up clothes and arranging my stuffed animals into family groups, I would sometimes pause, cock my head to one side, place my index finger in the dimple of my right cheek and say:
"Of all the things I can have in this world, I hope I never am married to a man deemed "scum-worthy" by the prevailing legal system."
Whether he is taken into custody on June 26th or not, that will be the date that he is sentenced. He will be a convicted felon. That much is not up for debate.
I wanted to have our divorce crap completed by father's day. I wanted that symbolic holiday to be mine, not his.
But I suppose telling his lawyer that I won't life a damn finger to give him back his possessions, that if he wants to retrieve anything he has to obey the rules for the order for protection, that perhaps it has slowed things down.
So, perhaps I won't be divorced by father's day. Nevertheless, it would be great to be divorced by June 25th. The little girl in me would like to at least be able to say "Of all the disappointments I've encountered in my life, at least I was never married to a felon."
Best of all? I WON'T be baking a cake with a file in it.
Whether they are prancing around in their princess costumes or hanging upside down from the apple tree in the backyard, they have dreams about their future.
I ALWAYS dreamed that I would never be married to a convicted felon.
From the time that I was putting on dress up clothes and arranging my stuffed animals into family groups, I would sometimes pause, cock my head to one side, place my index finger in the dimple of my right cheek and say:
"Of all the things I can have in this world, I hope I never am married to a man deemed "scum-worthy" by the prevailing legal system."
Whether he is taken into custody on June 26th or not, that will be the date that he is sentenced. He will be a convicted felon. That much is not up for debate.
I wanted to have our divorce crap completed by father's day. I wanted that symbolic holiday to be mine, not his.
But I suppose telling his lawyer that I won't life a damn finger to give him back his possessions, that if he wants to retrieve anything he has to obey the rules for the order for protection, that perhaps it has slowed things down.
So, perhaps I won't be divorced by father's day. Nevertheless, it would be great to be divorced by June 25th. The little girl in me would like to at least be able to say "Of all the disappointments I've encountered in my life, at least I was never married to a felon."
Best of all? I WON'T be baking a cake with a file in it.
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