I’ve been here one full calendar year as of almost this very minute. I don’t have much to show for it. It’s not like I was supposed to, there wasn’t a brass ring I missed, or a blue ribbon or any such empirical goal, I don’t set goals like that anyhow, but, you know, no one sets out for a tin ring, a red ribbon or a silver medal. I just mean today I expected to be in better shape; the nerve in my arm still isn’t right, stomach is upset, and my business with Oregon isn’t concluded.
Tomorrow I have to figure out how to get my dad to his doctor’s office. Let me rephrase that; how to get him out of the rig and to the elevator. It’s not like the doctor is going to provide any insight. Nobody is getting a brass ring. it’s not that kind of merry go round. Afterwards I have a meeting with my attorney. To what end? Damn insightful question. I don’t know. I’m rarely in a good mood at his shabby little office that does remind me of a merry go round; old plank wood horses with paint and glitter riding a pole like a senior stripper in a South Dakota casino. I mean there are reproductions of Famous art work in oversized gilded frames, yet the trimming from ceiling to acoustic tile isn’t true or even cut well and there’s places where the primer shows through the last paintjob. I’m going to be pissed if he’s just going to tell me shit I already know like the proof of publication has run its course.
Maybe there’s something to sign. Maybe he actually has the judge’s order.
I do feel like I’ve been holding my breath about that, the divorce. It doesn’t weigh on me and I have a whole script on why it doesn’t, though having a script at all means it must. There isn’t a brass ring to the divorce either, not picturing the jig I’ll do or the party I’ll have, no anticipation of any great burden being lifted. First day of school started for k-12 around here yesterday. I went to most of k-12 around here. October and March were tricky months, sometimes September too. If you took a coat in the morning you’d find yourself swinging it around on the way home when it was way too hot for a coat. If you toughed out the cold in the morning without a coat you could be walking home in a thunderstorm. That’s sort of what the divorce is like; traveling light.
Yeah, I have moments of gross sentimentality, I also have moments of intense anger, but 23.9 hours out of the day I don’t feel anything regarding a divorce and once it’s done it’ll be one less thing to think about. I wasn’t expecting to be angry, I wouldn’t have left the dogs with her or quit claimed the house if I thought that was going to happen; I was expecting to not ever live as man and wife again, or wife and man, or you know, once I grabbed a hold of the brass ring that there isn’t and had to figure out what to do next, going back to her was top of the not bloody likely list. Once the bats started staying away from her belfry in droves, when the bottom fell out of her marble sack, when her combination platter came shy a few tacos, the divorce was a defensive maneuver, turns out a very slow and awkward one, but it was more to do with not having a legal tie or any fiscal liability that could be plausibly made a lien against any potential brass rings I might stumble across.
Huh. Rubbish. Just not in the mood for stupid barrister tricks. I’m almost in a shitty enough of a mood to cruise for 60’s spaghetti westerns. See the problem with having a coat on a warm afternoon is you have to either do something responsible with it if you are suddenly moved to climb a backstop or you have to be prepared to tell your parents that you lost yet another coat.
And I’m spent.
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