Getting served was not actually all that bad. A portly blond asshole with an earpiece handed me a bundle of papers, asked if my last name was Dutch (at least I come by my crazy honestly), and I went back upstairs to read and plot. The papers themselves are very straightforward. I have scheduled a consultation and will proceed, no meltdown required.

The day was rescued by my absolutely awesome and amazing and incomparable friends. LTP did not leave my side the whole time. a raw came over and made sandwiches to sustain me while we awaited the delivery. Gennie and Em came over with sparking wine, macaroni and cheese, and chocolate chip cookies. We watched Obama speeches until my faith and joy in the remaking of the world was restored. It was, actually, an almost wonderful day.

The following night, Menagerie House decided to go out to dinner and a movie. It had all the makings of another fabulous night. We had delicious sushi. I almost stole a giant sign form Chapters that read "Smarten Up," but was caught at the last second and had to pretend I only wanted my picture taken with it. Then, we watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. That's when things started to go downhill.

The movie was fantastic. From the opening scene, featuring a dying mother and her daughter in hospital in New Orleans while Hurricane Katrina was about to hit, I knew I was in trouble. The film isn't moving at all, really, providing you have never known loss or true love or aren't ever saddened by things like the impermanence of the world. I, of course, bawled for over half of that bullshit three-hour film. Gennie had to teach me to release tension in my face and buy me a shot of Maker's Mark at the Rex before I felt restored enough to make it home.

Yesterday was an absolute symphony of uselessness. Lily and I staged a mini Battlestar Galatica marathon and managed to have brunch before it was somehow 7pm. WE had just enough time to grab some Thai takeout, pick up tickets from Eyesore Cinema (which, between the hot indie boys and proliferation of European horror films, may be my new favourite video store), and make our way to the Trash Palace to meet Bill K. We watched an amazing film called The Massacre up North (the drill-bit-to-the-brain scene was beaten only by the bubbling-pitch-and-crossbow-and-kidnapped-girl-in-medieval-garb scene) and bought Luchedor masks. Apparently Stacey is an ardent Mexican wrestling fan and buys up authentic masks all the time. Lily and I wore ours to the mini post-movie party at Bill K's place, where there was South Park and cheese and scotch.

So getting served sucked, and getting divorced in general sucks, and sometimes it still makes me very sad sometimes. But it's hard to stay sad for long when food is delicious, the luchedor masks plentiful, and my friends are more awesome than I could possibly deserve.

Labels: Le Divorce, Toronto

I don't want this blog to become Natale Whines about her Divorce Central. That said, a little bit of whining is necessary today.

I received a call today that I have been anticipating, occasionally impatiently, for some time. My divorce papers have been prepared and, sometime this afternoon, I will be served. Someone will come to my house, along with a witness, to personally hand me a bundle of papers stating that the process of ending my marriage has formally begun. If I do not contest (which I will not) or complicate matters (ditto), the divorce will be finalized as soon as we've officially been separated for a year. Sometime between early July and mid-August, I'll receive some more papers, stating that my marriage has been completely dissolved.

This sounds very boring and official and bureaucratic, and it is. It's also a miserable process. No matter how much I want this over and I know that ending my marriage is right, it still feels awful.

There is a melting feeling in my stomach. This is final. It's very much the end of something. It is time to let that other way of living go. If I am honest with myself, I have to admit I have had occasional fantasies of reconciliation. I have been lonely. I have questioned. But now that is happening and I feel so certain that it is right, I have to let that go. No more balancing between the old life and the new. Just being. Present. Here.

I am getting served today. I am getting a bundle of papers that represent the end of another life. What happens now? Do I return to a maiden state? Am I free? Am I tethered? What will I look like now?

Labels: Le Divorce

Let's be friends.

2008 and I never managed to get things right between us. After an amazing 2007, 2008 seemed like ti would be a great years' quieter foil. Instead, it was a marathon of me getting kicked in the head over and over again. I was rejected from PhD programs. My marriage failed. I was more ill in more ways than I had ever been before. I lost friends. I failed, over and over again.

The only triumph, only success I can claim as my own is that I continued to get up again after each blow. Somehow, after some new horrible things happened, I resisted the temptation ( it often seemed like wisdom) to just lay down. My own stubbornness saved me. Each time a little bloodier, a little less steady, I found my feet, nodded to the ref and went another round.

By the end of the year, 2008 and I seemed to have come to a truce. It stopped trying actively to kill me every few minutes, and I settled down some. Or, at least, started over, started building rather than just struggling to endure. By the end, I found an apartment in my city, moved in with the best friends imaginable, and got an amazing job, and started actually having a little bit of fun. I got to spend he first holiday season with my family since 2005. And, right at the very end there, I remembered that once upon a time, I actually enjoyed Winter, and am learning to do so again.

2009, let's not have such a hate-hate relationship. Let's be friends. We can take up crochet and enjoy some of the quieter past times. I will pledge to be less of a psychopath if you keep the Major Life Changes to a bare minimum. Deal?

Okay. Let's rock this town.

Labels: Open Letters to Late Capitalist Society