Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Closure, What It Feels Like

I finally got to court on Wednesday; “got to” meaning that we were all there, including the judge, but we didn’t face the judge because nasty lady lawyer decided that we were not properly prepared to face the judge who would get mad at us all for arguing about little things, as in the Battle of the Grocery Store Receipts. That was, to a large extent, because, as she tried to make it out, I did not present the hundreds of pages of receipts and bills to her and her associate early enough to send to exman. Of course, I was never told that I needed to have them in to her early enough to send to him in advance (and in chronological order). She, of course, also said that it was because I got emotional over the summer when there was another delay and I need to, basically, act my age. I was also charged as guilty for not having continued to present receipts to him all the time, as it stated in the PSA but which he always ignored and so I stopped. 

But I don’t feel like mulling over how the lawyers I have encountered have failed me. In spite of her not preparing me to properly prepare for court, I do think she was the best lawyer I have encountered and too bad that I didn’t have her earlier instead of the lawyer who I thought was as good as could be when, in fact, he was incompetent. (Note to self and others: do as Charlotte did and go for the unattractive lawyer if you’re going with a man.)

Okay, the point. Nasty lady lawyer, who wouldn’t let exman rile her and abuse her as he has done to three associates at her law firm as well as the receptionist (imagine that, verbally abusing a receptionist) told exman off and, perhaps momentarily, put him in his little place. Her reaction to him: he’s extremely unattractive; he looks dissolute, as if he might, on occasion, be drinking too much; is seedy and unkempt looking; oh, and he is still in love with me and is devastated by the divorce. She even told him that he’s upset that I left him and it must hurt him that I am so cute. Oh, the woman has balls.

But that’s still not the point. The point is that I am finished, finished with worrying about him getting the better of me, of him getting away with owing me money. I’m just done. What has been has been, and now I am ready to let it go, so I won’t have more money to buy an apartment, and so I have spent too much money on lawyers, I am content as in not mad at myself for letting him win without putting up a fight and not disappointed in myself for having given in. Content that I have done all that I could have—should have—and content, too, that I have come out at the place where I am. 

For the first time I don’t see that another process will bring me anything I need—or that I will get—and am ready to let go. Sure, she said that she will meet with him to go over his receipts and my receipts (at no charge to me she even told him—and she charges quite a lot), but I don’t feel anchored to that in any way. No, I have left the anchor behind. I am no longer moored in any way to him and the marriage and the divorce. Does saying that negate saying it? No, I don’t think so. I really feel complete. Maybe that’s closure, not that there is a tidy end to something (and even an apology and a forgiving), but rather that you feel that no more needs to be done. Does closure happen when you sever your ties to something that had formerly held you? Not that you close a door, but rather that you pass through a doorway. So closure really is an opening, an opening into a space that doesn’t hold you to what had been. Closure, it’s not an end, it’s the gradual movement from one place to another. It is the personal passage from the past to the present.

NOTE: I absolutely loved the fact that this tough 60-something lawyer came to court in an obviously expensive black suit that was decorated with tiny rhinestones and  rhinestone-studded heart-shaped buttons. Oh, she was a sight to see. No power shoulder pads or asexual suiting, she was all woman—all 120 pounds of her in her three-inch heels, ready to do battle with any pin-stripe that came her way.

Penciling in Dates

An update on how the system's been treating me.

June 18        The house was finally sold in a six-hour "ceremony." Since exman still owed me money (for food, shelter and clothing for his daughters), I filed a complaint in court. The lawyer (one level down the totem pole from Nasty Lady Lawyer) told me the hearing would be on June 26. Since she made a mistake in the filing, a revision needed to be prepared and sent to court by another lawyer (four levels down from Nasty Lady Lawyer) and we were given a new date—July 24. I needed to prepare a lot of things and make a lot of copies for that hearing, which I did.

July 22         When I arrived at 4:50 for my 4:30 meeting (because there was so much traffic) with the lawyer-to-the-4th to prepare for court in two days, she told me that exman had hired a lawyer and the hearing would be rescheduled. She mentioned August 13th as the day she thought this would happen.

July 23         Lawyer-to-the-4th and his lawyer went to court to postpone the hearing.

At this point I sent an email to Nasty Lady Lawyer telling her that I did not want any one to do anything on my case except get a new date. I noted that I feared that the amount I would get was not much more than the amount it would cost me.

July 27 or August 3         I don’t know on which day the scheduling hearing took place because lawyer-to-the-4th never bothered to contact me (was this part of not doing anything?). At that meeting exman appeared by himself because he had fired his fourth lawyer. The new date for the hearing is DECEMBER 9! Lawyer-to-the-4th, feeling pleased with herself (somehow) had the gall to write to me (after I emailed her asking WELL?) that she told exman “no more continuances.” Yeah, she really has him eating out of her hand.

I have decided that I must be as detached from the legal dealings as I am from the dating game. Just play along until something proves to me that I am being taken seriously. No more tears or sleepless nights. These are the follies of my life. I regret going to court this time, but I have started it and will see where it leads. By the way, I do not get child support nor do I think that it will ever come to pass because it will involve more hassles and fighting that I don't want to undertake because I want and need to be done with him, hence the desire to get some of what he owes me for the last two years. 

I just received a bill from the electric company. Shocker. He didn't pay what he owes them and since his electricity is apparently included in his rent in his new place, they want me to pay it. I just kept repeating to the supervisor on the phone (in a not very calm tone that I apologized for at the beginning--stating that this is coming at the end of a bitter divorce) that "I don't owe them anything." She got off the phone, but I don't think that will be the end of that.

The System Speaks

HA HA HA HA HA! You thought you could beat the System. You thought the System was fair. Woman, how is it possible that you never lost your naïveté? How could you think that your voice would be heard? No one cares! The judges don’t care. The lawyers don’t care. Your lawyers don’t care. Only you care. But who are you? You are nothing. So you thought just because you got a piece of paper that said COURT JULY 24 that that would happen. How stupid could you be? Have you not been through FOUR years of this to know that you will never have your day in court!? Have you learned nothing?

DELAYS. OBSTRUCTIONS. INCOMPETENCE. That’s what wins.

How could you not expect the System to work for your ex-husband? He is the epitome of the System, of the kind of people who created the System and who thrive in it. Of course your ex-husband will do something that will get the System to bend toward him because the System is stacked for him and against you. You who think that the System is here to hear you and pity you and understand poor poor you. HA HA HA HA HA!

Of course he will hire a lawyer four days before the court date who can’t appear on Friday and who needs time to prepare for court. Of course it is summer and the judges (those Guardians of the System) prefer to play golf on Fridays rather than listen to your whimperings.

Go back. Go back to your little life and stop pestering the System. Relinquish your attempt at moral superiority and go back. Relinquish your illusions and go back. Retreat from thinking there is equity and fairness. Retreat to your place. You will get no money. You will not be heard. There is nothing to hear. Not even your cries.

You will not be heard.

Mediation, or Sitting around a Big Table with Someone You Hate (Part 3)

This time I lasted twenty minutes around that table. It could be that my lack of patience with slime and mediator man is because this is the third time (1, 2) around that table (with more goodies in the middle that I did not touch) and I already knew how things would go. Or it could be because the day before slime was yelling at me, yet again, for moving his dishes and then within the rant he proceeded to fill a bowl with water and throw it on the fish I had draining in a colander in the sink, and then throw a cup with orange peels in it and so I was in a still annoyed-stressed-exhausted state of mind. I almost threw that cup with orange peels, that I was originally holding in my hand, at him: I raised my hand and saw his red, throbbing face and his little tape recorder and heard his little voice saying, “Don’t touch my things, if you do I will put yours on your bed”; “Call the police”; “I’ll take you to court and win.”And I just knew that I didn’t want to have to pay any more for having made the mistake of staying with this man for too long, and throwing anything at him could do just that. I guess I still haven’t lost my sanity.

Before I walked out, I stood up, told slime that I don’t have to listen to him insult me anymore and said to deer-in-the-headlights mediator man that it’s not okay that he lets slime speak to me like that.

What especially stands out is that slime is whining that he has to pay me $5,000 (which is a lot less than the $25,000 he should owe me but I relinquished $20,000 to get moving last time; I did say that he stole it from me). Then, when I said that he still hadn’t paid for $1,000 of home repairs his little voice started saying, “Read what the contract says.” Uh, no. No maneuverings, you should have paid for more repairs; it’s not legalese here, it’s about getting the house attractive enough to invite an offer. And that stupid mediator man is not able to discern a difference between how the two of us act or talk?!

By now I know that not only is mediator man not on my side, but more of the “yes, what this guys says makes sense” kind of person because, as my mother says, he hasn’t really seen him. Her analogy was a gynecologist who never gave birth. If you haven’t lived with this type of manipulative person and seen how he twists everything, you might think that he makes sense. When I said, no, I don’t agree to slime’s new price both slime and mediator man came in on a chorus that the court won’t address this. The implication was clear, do what he says because you have no other recourse. Really I thought, thinking of Leopard-Lady Lawyer.

Meeting Nasty Lady Lawyer

I had my meeting with number one nasty lady lawyer the other day. She did admit at some point in our conversation that she is referred to by some at the courthouse as the Wicked Witch of the East or West, and all I could think was YES!, enough Mr. Nice Guy for mr. slime.

The first thing I saw of her office was a leopard print throw on the sofa. I thought, looks good to me, she’s got claws ready to come out and she’s proclaiming it. Not that they came out on me, I had a very good meeting with her. Maybe I put people at ease or maybe she was in a chatty mood, but my meeting lasted for two hours on a Saturday afternoon and included discussing my case, reading and being disappointed in my PSA (property settlement agreement), custody agreement, mediated agreements, and assorted documents that cost my parents tens of thousands of dollars over the past four years.

She did remark on my sense of humor and how important it is in these situations. I did get a laugh-out-loud from her when I told her about slime’s tape recorder friend.
Anyway, we also talked at length about my daughters, I received advice on what to say to nasty older daughter who again called me a “f---ing c-” without as many consequences as she thinks should be given. And we talked of her children and grandchildren. And, of course, other cases and how she handled them, including one that she has right now that is similar to mine so she already has the case law out and studied. And we talked of younger daughter and how as soon as the house issue is resolved we need to file for a new custody agreement to get one that is sane for her and one that would prevent him from playing headgames on her like he did with older daughter.

Her first cutting-to-the-core comment after reading the PSA was that he didn’t want the divorce. Then she went on to say how obviously controlling he is. Of course I didn’t come out unscathed since as she noted I am a conflict avoider who ended up enabling him. No shit. As I analyzed in “Compromising Myself Out of a Marriage,” by appeasing him I ended up diminishing myself and enabling him to continue on his control path unchecked. I did add, at the door, that once he stopped being a litigator he turned his fury on me instead on the opposing side and that certainly didn’t help things.

Unfortunately even with her as my attorney I can’t kick him out of the house. That can only happen if he hits me, which I think he knows because he has not crossed that line. There are plans to go to court—expedited (which I think she will really manage, not like my previous lawyer who went with the flow rather than creating the flow and never managed to expedite anything). But this must wait until mid-April since I am bound by the mediated agreement in which I agreed to market the house at the current price until mid-April and if nothing happens then back to the mediator. Why, why did I agree to mid-April? Oh, well, it’s not so far now (relatively speaking) and that will give her time to prepare whatever needs to be prepared. She even had an idea as to how I can get back the money that I gave up in order to get him to reduce the price of the house. Sounds so good to me.

So there are plans. And I have homework: I need to go back into my memory and record all of the harassing things he has said and done to me since we signed the PSA two years ago. Luckily I have much of that done since I previously filed against him for harassment, and I recorded so many of the incidents here. But the going over them forces me to remember them as opposed to forgetting them, which is so much nicer. The night before our meeting I had to get my papers together and it was so hard to look through four years of papers that documented his delaying tactics and insults, and how disappointing all of those papers were that never managed to get me to where I need to be.  

Each time that he yells whatever it is that he yells, I need to write down. And I need to start putting the bills and the receipts on the table again asking him to pay his share which will be taken but ignored. But it feels okay since I think that she’s not going to let me get pushed around by the courts or him. Regarding the PSA, her comment, after she said that she would have ripped it up was that my lawyer let me agree to what I wanted, while if she had been my lawyer then she wouldn’t have let me. Oy. I kept asking my lawyer what things mean, and his response was always that that is all we can get out of him. I wish I had the balls then to change lawyers.

I stay with men too long. I stayed with my ex far too long, and I stayed with my lawyer too long. I keep giving people chances when they don’t deserve them. Could it be that I don’t trust my instincts enough? No. Could it be that I DIDN’T trust my instincts enough?

By the way, for the two-hour meeting that was more than a legal meeting and more like a bestowal of choice bits of work and life wisdom, she charged a low one-hour initial consultation fee.

Let’s go leopard lady!

Mediation, or Sitting around a Big Table with Someone You Hate, Part 2

At the end of a short work week [I had off on both Martin Luther King Jr Day and Inauguration Day (this is standard in this county, not just because of Obama but because we teachers and children going to school supposedly create too much traffic for the attendees)], but as all of the Ladies Who Lunch (that would be the English teachers in the workroom) determined yesterday, short weeks just compress the requisite amount of weekly pressure into less time making it a tougher-than-normal week. And so, to top off an intense week I got to sit around that big round table again with mediator man and exman (“man” being a pejorative term for both).

Asking a student why he plagiarized a paper, speaking to a parent whose son cheated, asking another student to stop making sounds that befit a football stadium, parsing “no, that is wrong” in a manner that does not hurt anyone’s tender sensibilities, and worrying about yet another student who is seeping into depression was nothing compared to those 45 minutes. Oh, and having my co-teacher out of the room most of time, "tracking down information on our newest student." Um, shouldn't you do that during your planning period and not during class? Not only was exman in “form” with the insults, the bizarre interpretations of reality, and the demands, but mediator man was in all effect a lump of clay.

Two times exman threatened me, and neither time did mediator man say anything. I don’t know, but if his job is to create an environment conducive to discussion and mutual decision-making, having one client say to the other client “I’ll get you” would seem to be a little red flag for speaking up and scolding said belligerent client. But no, mediator man did nothing. I guess he was intimidated by exman, but have no fear, I have come a long way from being the woman who is called “nothing” with nary a protective word. And in keeping with exman—consensus here—being a sociopath narcissist, his rejoinder to me was, “No, that’s not a threat, that’s a promise.”

It all started with his opening ploy in the waiting room: “Hi, Laura.” Now this man has not uttered my name in years, so I guess he was trying to show that he’s really a decent guy. But that was dispelled quickly, when he told mediator man that we did not get carpet for the house because of my outrageous behavior. Oh yeah, being insulted in Lowes and then sashaying out because of it is outrageous to one who thinks his mouth can say whatever it wants and everyone else will bow before it.

Divorce and Custody: Virginia Style and American Style

This is what I found when I was searching the name of one of the bastard lawyers my nice lawyer told me about: the Mommy Go Bye Bye blog.

And this is the paragraph that stopped me:

Virginia judges say a father may hurt the mother of his child, by abusing her, without hurting his chances of gaining custody. Judges surveyed for Influences on Judges' Decisions in Child Custody Disputes in the Commonwealth of Virginia, a 2001 Virginia Supreme Court study, also reveal that children over five go to fathers more than they go to mothers when cases go to court. The study explains that judges in Virginia believe #1) mothers have “more problems” than fathers and #2) mothers are “less competent than fathers. Pages 4, 6, 7, 20, 21, 23, 24, 29, 30, 38, 39, 40, 41, 53, 55, and 57, however, are especially relevant to the current trend of giving children to fathers who are abusive, violent, and dangerously controlling men. Those pages are excerpted and contained in my compendium "The High Price of Conscience-free Justice." Or you may look for the study on the Virginia General Assembly website.

And then there was this:

Breaking the Silence: Children’s Stories — a powerful new PBS documentary that chronicles the impact of domestic violence on children and the recurring failings of family courts across the country to protect them from their abusers. In stark and often poignant interviews, children and battered mothers tell their stories of abuse at home and continued trauma within the courts. Co-produced by Tatge-Lasseur Productions and Connecticut Public Television (CPTV), this one-hour special also features interviews with domestic violence experts, attorneys and judges who reveal the disturbing frequency in which abusers are winning custody of their children and why these miscarriages of justice continue to occur.

This program is made possible by funding from the Mary Kay Ash Charitable Foundation. One of the most effective ways an abusive father can inflict pain and declare his domination is to take custody of his children away from their mother. As Joan Meier, an attorney and professor of clinical law, explains, “To win custody of the kids over and against the mother’s will is the ultimate victory...short of killing the kids.” While there may be a perception in society that the family court system has a maternal preference, statistics show that, in the past twenty years, fathers are more often being awarded custody. Furthermore, in family court cases where mothers allege battery, fathers are given custody two-thirds of the time.

And if that was not enough, there was this:

“U.S. courts remain incredibly reluctant to punish men for crimes against their families," Silverman observes. "In this country, family violence is still seen as a private matter.”

“Men could beat, maim, and murder their wives with impunity until this century,” he continues. “Until the 1990s, it was legal in some states for a man to rape his wife. Like slavery and racism in this country, violence against women and children is the legacy of longstanding legal and social structures.”

* * *

When I attended the parenting class that I was required to by Virginia law after getting a divorce when children are involved (I don’t think mr ex ever attended a session)  there was a mother there who had been a stay-at-home mother, who home-schooled her five kids, who lost custody of her children to her physically abusive ex-husband, who was given the okay by the judge to take the minor children out of state to live. How respectable, daddy dearest was a pilot. The judge then told this woman, who had not worked outside of the home for years, that he better see a record of her going often to visit her children who were going to be half-way across the country with their father, even though she has no money. She, of course, was not given spousal support. This woman also relayed that she was ostracized by her church for getting a divorce.

There really isn’t anything to add, except the horror, the horror. Any wonder that so often we get duped by these guys, they dupe the system, too.

There's this pseudo theory that only the courts have taken a hold of called Parental Alienation Syndrome, which states that the abused parent will turn the child against the abusing parent. In order to prevent that from happening, the courts have decided to  simply give the kids to the abusing parent, who, of course, in no way will try to turn his kids against the other parent. How do you say "stupid" in legalese? I know, Parental Alienation Syndrome.

Watch the video, it’s chilling, especially the judge who says that no new evidence was presented although the child had told her mother that her father had sexually abused her after the first court case.

Why, why does the world still go round when children are not listened to and protected, and mothers are not listened to and protected? Why, why does the world still go round when abusers are given license to abuse? Why, why does the world still go round when all that is good is debased by those who have more powerful pockets and mouths?

Mediation, or Sitting around a Big Table with Someone You Hate

My expectation for the mediation on Tuesday was that I would get to sit in my own little room, ex would sit in his own little room, and the mediator would shuffle between us. I wouldn’t have to see him, I wouldn’t have to hear him, I wouldn’t have to be in his presence. Unfortunately, mediator man thought that two adults need to act maturely and civilly, you know, be nice to each other.

He forgot that I had told him we were divorced already, not a good thing to forget. Don’t worry, I reminded him of this significant detail as soon as he started asking if there is a way to save the marriage. Um, what marriage?

Did I say that mediator man is in his 70’s, battling cancer and recently had a part of his right ear chopped off? Perhaps his perspective on life comes from the perspective of a man looking back at the follies of people, but since I am in the prime of folliehood I did not appreciate his view from on high.

When I walked into the mediator’s office I was confronted with a very, very big oval table of heavy wood with six chairs around it. I think it was a dining room table transformed into an office table. But it was wide enough so that we couldn’t be near each other.

(Highlight of the meeting: ex’s chair broke. The wheel of one leg fell off, twice. I was gracious enough to not laugh, but my was that lovely. I wasn’t able to look at him, but I could see him struggling to get the wheel back in.)

Is it worth it to go into the details of ex’s presentation of his case? Or is it enough to say that as I listened to him, I could hear how an outsider would think that what he said made sense but it was all twisted, twisted by a perception of reality that is formed in a narcissist’s mind. Apparently the house has not sold for two reasons. First, we had an offer that I rejected. I practically jumped out of my seat when he said that. There has never been an offer, there was a price probe last summer a month after the house was listed that was so low that even the realtor didn’t take it seriously. Second, the carpet in the entrance is old and I refuse to replace it. Yes, a house built in 1977 with the original kitchen, original bathrooms, original windows, original flooring has not sold because of a worn carpet and not because it is priced as if it has a new kitchen, new bathrooms, new windows and new flooring. Please.

Letter to the Judge

I was supposed to go to court today to plead to the judge to stop mr ex from harassing me, start paying me what he owes me, and stop preventing us from listing the house at a reasonable price. We came to an agreement during our mediation session on Tuesday so I will not have to go to court. (The post on that is still being mentally formulated but since I am so mentally drained, it’s taking some time.) But I thought that I would post the letter I had written to the judge at my lawyer’s behest. This letter would have been my opening argument in court.

* * *
I have been divorced from mr ex since August 2007. I have been separated from him since March 2005. It is unconscionable that we are still living in the same house.

I separated from him and divorced him because he is emotionally and verbally abusive. He has only gotten worse. Because we still live in the same house I am still an emotional and verbal punching bag for him. He has no stops on his mouth. He curses at me in front of our daughters, now 17 and 13. He insults me in front of them. It does not matter if I go into my room and close the door and lock it, he continues. It does not matter what I say or do, he continues. We are divorced, there is no reason for me to have to live in the same house as him.

We need to reduce the price of the house so that it can be sold. We will both still make money. I am being held prisoner because of his greed and my lack of money.

* * *

I have not slept in a bed since March 2005, except when visiting friends and family or on one weekend vacation. Since mr ex and I separated, I have slept on a couch in the living room, then on a mattress on the floor of the guest bedroom, and since June 2007 on a love seat.

That’s a lot of nights of discomfort.

That’s a lot of nights when I can’t stretch out.

That’s a lot of nights when I can’t roll around trying to find a comfortable spot so that I can go back to sleep.

That’s a lot of time for two girls, who are now both teenagers, but were 9 and 13 when we separated, to see their mother contorted on a love seat while their father stretches out on a king-size bed.

That’s a lot of time for two girls to see and hear their mother being verbally and emotionally abused.

That’s a lot of time for two girls to grow up watching what happens when love dies.

That’s a lot of time for two girls to think that this is normal.

The Week in Review

Home: The “For Sale” sign is still in front of the house, although the price has been reduced. slime finally agreed to reduce the price by about half of what I wanted (which is what the realtor recommended minus a bit)—and that was before the economy tanked even more. His agreement was probably just a ploy to show the judge that he is cooperating in the sale of the house. Let’s just reduce the price to practically foreclosure level and be done with it. No one has been by to visit, and I have gotten very lax in keeping the cleaning up to ready-to-show-in-a-half-hour status. Who wouldn’t be tired of maintaining a home at show quality for almost a year and a half?

I dread the idea of having to clean again because I detest living here. I detest that things have worked out so that I have lived in the same house with a man from whom I have been separated since March 2004. I don’t want to rant about my fault, or his fault, or my lawyer's fault, or the economy’s fault, or fate’s fault, all I want to do is rant at the injustice of this living arrangement.

Court: The court date is coming, it is November 6th. My lawyer (who needs to rise to bastard level) suggested that I write a letter to the judge to explain what it is like for me, and especially my daughters, living in this house, all of us together. I am beginning to compose that letter. Maybe threads are starting to show here.

slime: I think he gained weight because every time he walks around I hear the floor responding with a creak. So even when I don’t see him, I hear him. And if it’s not the floor, it’s his throat clearings because he never gave up cigarettes even though he promised me that he would before we got married many years ago.

Oh, and if I have to be exposed to the way he disregards his daughters, especially his younger daughter, anymore I think I will finally break down. It was her birthday the other day, I did not see a gift nor did I see a cake from him. Not that my cake was the best ever: it was a delicious defrosted Strawberry Shortcake from Trader Joe’s with imaginary candles. She is so sweet, she even made a wish and blew out the candles, and my older daughter held back and did not mock me and my candle improvisation.

But worst of all for me is when he calls my older daughter into his room, and then has her close the door so that they can have a private conversation in his bedroom (the master suite). It seems to me that this is a monologue, since I rarely hear the mumble of her voice through the closed doors. This arrangement feels weird and makes me uncomfortable for her—and me. It feels unseemly, because it feels as if he has made her his surrogate wife, in the talking aspect of things. And that is unsettling.

School/Work: One colleague recently resigned for an unspecified reason, but apparently she is an alcoholic. It is so upsetting to see someone you know and respect having such a hard time; I wish her complete healing and a successful recovery.

I’m getting a bit overwhelmed with all of the data we English teachers need to collect for the higher-ups. I broke the silence at a meeting today and said that I “philosophically oppose a test for Night” and that “we are supposed to be focused on writing, which is what everyone says the students need to improve.” But really, who cares about my protestations, my students need to be bubbling scantrons to prove that they have learned something from the stream of teachings that comes out of me on a non-stop basis.

My students are now writing essays on something important to them. I am so looking forward to reading their essays, especially since I only need to read 50 of them since my co-teacher will be reading our joint classes’ essays. A few were on tee shirts, and stuffed animals, and trophies. I explained the assignment discussing the rocks I collected on my spring break vacation to visit my friend in Monterey; what a joy it was to walk on a beach in the company of a friend without any responsibilities for a week; no wonder those stones make me feel good. I hope this assignment makes them feel good too. I mean who wouldn’t want to spend a few hours thinking about your favorite tee shirt and where you got it and what it means to you?

Dating: No boys on the horizon. Apparently someone emailed me from match.com, but I didn’t want to spend $30 to sign up to read the email that I have already decided would not be worth the investment. And may I say that I posted on match more than a year ago and this is the first email in just about forever. It could be a good sign, but it could also be a waste of time, hope and money and I don’t feel like wasting two of the above. I broke down and checked out Craig’s List, and emailed one man; but it turned out that I had met him for one coffee date. His response to my repeat email was that I should be ashamed of myself. (He knew of my blog, where I had written that he had been nice but in a worse home situation than mine, so no thanks.) So I really think that I shall stay away from there. Lurkers, there are too many lurkers.

And that is about a week in the life of.

Anniversary Shocker

The meeting will not be. mr ex called my lawyer to say that some urgent has come up and he cannot attend the meeting. I have no words left, and, unfortunately, I still have tears left, in response. This is really tootootoo much.

* * *

Anniversary

Tomorrow would have been my 23rd anniversary. Instead of celebrating those years, I will be in a courthouse meeting with my lawyer who will be going between two tables; one where I will be sitting, because mr ex does not want to sit at the same table as me, and one where mr ex will be sitting. The intent of the bi-table meeting is to try to help me broker a deal that will end, to an even greater extent than the divorce decree itself, this marriage.

Yes, unbelievably, we are still living in the same house. Blame the mortgage crisis. Blame his stubbornness. Blame my persistence. Blame whatever you want, but I need to leave this house or sell this house and I need to leave with some money so that I will be able to purchase a place for me and my daughter(s?) to live. And he seems unwilling to do anything but stall the process or ignore the fact that this is not life and this cannot go on any longer. So more than a month after I presented an offer that he was apparently pleased with, and after two weeks of playing telephone tag with my lawyer, the date of our anniversary turned out to be the best date for all involved.

And you know what, I am pleased of the confluence. I am pleased that everything about the marriage is being tarnished, because at this point I am so tired of having to deal with this and this man that I don’t want to remember any happiness. I don’t want to focus on the good times. I want that to be blurred by the reality of what became of that beginning. I don’t want to remember standing in a botanical garden in Tel Aviv smiling in the 100 degree heat in my wedding dress taking pictures, I want to remember that he does not want to sit at the same table with me. Because this bitterness, this bile, brings me to a new level of separation.

Many people talk of forgiveness, and how important that is to move on. I don’t know if this is forgiveness I am feeling, maybe it is pity and maybe they are entwined. Yes, I have come to feel pity for slime man. All endearing qualities have lost their luster, and all questionable qualities have become pitiful.

And he will try to bargain hard tomorrow. He will insult me to my lawyer. Heck, he will insult my lawyer. I honestly don’t know what will be tomorrow, what his counter-offer will be and where the discussion, if any, will lead. All I care about is that it is one more step in stepping away, in never having to clench my heart in anguish over his words. I hope with all there is in me that still believes that something good can happen to me, that there will be a settlement tomorrow.

My Day in Court, Sort of

If I had a pulled pork sandwich for lunch yesterday it must mean that I was in court. It has become the only bright point on these days in court when nothing happens, even though something is supposed to happen. So as I sit and hope that the court will set the stage for me to be free of this house and this man, I know that even if nothing happens, I can at least expect a good lunch. And you know, that’s not much by way of compensation.

 

So yes, I had my day in court yesterday, but it was very anti-climatic. The judge did not stand up, come down from his desk-on-a-platform, and bow down before me and say SORRY. Sorry that we messed up and that you had to wait three months for me to say “okay, let’s get the show on the road.” And he did not say, since we—I—have really made a mess of things for you and your family, why don’t you present your case now instead of us wasting even more time having you wait until Monday to speak to the scheduling judge to get yet another court date.  

 

No, he merely stated to my lawyer, “Oh, yes, on that April day, for some reason the case didn’t get on the docket until 10:23.” Which was three minutes too late, since we left the courthouse at 10:20. Okay (deep breath here), so why didn’t he or his clerk say that at any time? Why didn’t they confess? And why did he listen to my ex who apparently lied that I was not there, in court that day (I filed the motion for goodness sakes!)? And why did they close the case as mr. ex requested when the judge knew that they had created the mitigating circumstance? And why didn’t the judge immediately re-open the case three months ago when my lawyer called and tried to explain what had happened—since they already knew what had happened? And why didn’t they say that I will get my legal fees back for demanding that my lawyer draw up a letter asking them to open a case that should not have been closed because of their scheduling glitch? And why shouldn’t I get back legal fees for having my lawyer in court two times with no judge to hear the case. And why, why is it all about procedure but not logic?

 

The only bright point of the day was that mr. ex was not there. Nope, I guess he didn’t call to find out when the judge finally rescheduled this ridiculous hearing a full month after he cancelled the last hearing. (Does it count as cancelled if we were all there ready to go, but only the judge was missing? Would that be a perversion of justice? Or a justice perverting the process?)

 

What are these people thinking? That we have unlimited monetary resources for lawyers and unlimited time to take off from work? (Luckily the last two court dates were during summer break.) Do the judges take too seriously the fact that they have been placed on pedestals? And honestly, who is this man to decide my fate so callously? If this were a ballgame the umpire/referee would have been booed off the field long ago for thinking that this is about himself and not about my case. Hey, over here, it’s not your parade—it’s mine, so focus on the points at hand. Namely, two girls who are continually exposed to the nastiness of their father, and one woman who is continually exposed to the nastiness of her ex-father and who is going into debt buying food for her daughters because their father won’t. THAT is the point!

 

I originally filed this motion in November, hoping to have something happen to enable this house to be sold sometime during the summer. This summer, a full year after we divorced; a full year after it was placed on the market; a full year added to the two plus full years already during which I have been living with an ex-husband in the house who is nothing but a negative presence.  

 

Bitter. I keep hearing from people who have long since left this stage of their lives behind and how happy they are, and that I will get through this. I know that, I really do, but it is taking so long—and for no reason. Delays and egos. That’s what I’m up against. And a weepy woman with a smile to boot is not, apparently, a contender in this competition.

 

Oh, did I mention we could hear a criminal in his holding pen to the side of the courtroom as we waited for the judge to come back from his potty break, and then later, as the judge explained to some about-to-be-divorced man what was in his agreement because he was going solo? Not quite rattling chains, but there was noise enough for the bailiff to peek in to see that all was well. Maybe that was not a prisoner there but my emotions rattling, rattling against the constraints and the constrictions. Rattling against a system that is not helping. Rattling against a system that is inflicting pain and harm and wasted time.

 

So all that happened was that the judge cancelled the April order that closed the case. So, yippee, the case has been reopened. I am, in essence, where I was in November (2007), waiting for my case to be heard, but with far more skepticism (or realistic expectations). The system, the system is painful to encounter.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stood Up by the Judge, Again

Well, this whole court experience or lack thereof has caused even my father to become cynical. He told my mother the night before my scheduled court appearance on June 20th that it wouldn’t happen. And, unfortunately, that has come to pass (or not). The judge, the judge really did stand me up. At seven in the morning of the 20th he called in to his boss (the chief judge of the county courthouse) and told him that he wouldn’t be coming in. I’m sorry if he’s sick, but enough already.

I, of course, did not find this out until I walked into the courtroom with my lawyer and there was no one there in a robe. His clerk told us that he wouldn’t be coming in. Incredulous is all I can say to describe my state of mind. And the tears just started streaming, and I lacked the ability to even attempt to stop them, mascara or not, public place or not. I looked at the clerk, at my lawyer, at the other people in the courtroom (not at mr. ex, though) hoping that someone would do something, would say something to stop this reality from unfolding. But no one did. He really did stand me up.

I am a person who can generally smile, but since this happened yesterday I have been unable to smile. I tried, I really did when someone smiled at me, but I couldn’t break it; my cheeks didn’t bunch up in the charming way that people’s cheeks do when they smile. No, a pretend smile that barely moved the lips was—is—all I can muster. I know that I am not sick, that I am healthy, my daughters are healthy, and everyone I know is basically healthy and I really should be thankful for that. And I am. But this weight—this dark cloud—that is hovering over me is too, too much.

So that court date that was to discuss the fact that on April 17th the county clerk or scheduling judge forgot to actually schedule my case (to discuss the fact that mr. ex has been harassing me and not paying the bills and not paying me what he is obliged to) and that Mr. Judge listened to mr. ex and closed the case because… because mr. ex apparently said that I was not there, and he listened to him. And since then Mr. Lawyer told me one wrong date, and mr. ex cancelled one date, and Mr. Judge cancelled one date three days before time, and then, well, stood me up at the courthouse. I am so tired of hearing my lawyer tell me that “this has never happened before.”

The judge does not have any dates open to reschedule the hearing until July 18th. My lawyer will be out of town next week, so I can imagine by the time he is back there won’t be dates available until August, or, gasp, September. Again, this is not even to discuss the issue—harassment and his being a deadbeat dad—it is merely to reopen a case that should not have been closed. Closed because, it appears, psycho ex found an “unorthodox” judge to listen to his rants when neither I nor my lawyer was present (a big no-no).

And the humiliation of mr. ex insulting my attorney as Mr. Lawyer stretched out his hand to him only to have it rebuked with a nasty “Lawyer’slastname, get into the courtroom.” Oh, the nastiness, oh the fact that these delays delay my ability to sever more significantly my ties from this man. Doesn’t anyone understand that these delays affect lives? That these days alter the course of my psyche in only a bad way?

* * *

It is summer. And since last summer I have been divorced from this man. And for over three years now we have been living in the same house, “living separate and apart” as it is called. I’m still trying to believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel that is blocked by a boulder, but it is getting more and more difficult to believe.

 

* * *

Stood up by the Judge

Now that George Clooney and his girlfriend have gone separate ways, it seems to me that it would be easier to arrange a date with him (for myself, of course) than with a county judge. I doubt George would stand me up as much as the judges have been doing over the past SEVEN months.

November, 30, 2007: Filed a “Motion to Enforce Property and Support Settlement Agreement” because mr. ex had been continually harassing me, not paying his share of the bills, not buying food for his daughters, and obstructing the sale of the home.

February 8, 2008: Court date assigned to hear the motion. On the day before the hearing, Mr. Lawyer said that I, surprise surprise, got a judge who he considers inconsistent and feared that he wouldn’t see the logic of my case, since this judge's logic wasn’t observed by many. Okay. If, from your twenty years of experience, you offer me that advice, I’ll go with it. He stated, ever so confidently, we’ll get another date in a week or so. His years of experience didn’t enable him to foresee that he has a special client on his hands for whom that cancellation would cause events—dates—to spiral months into the future without having a hearing.

February 22: There I am, in the courtroom of the judge who had told my lawyer that he wants to hear the case and that it can be done in a half-hour. But no, I guess he was in a special mood that day, because the judge decided that, oh no, this case is too involved for a mere thirty minutes, we need the family court special: three hours devoted to the trials and tribulations of our situation. How special I felt. Did I say that mr. ex called Mr. Lawyer a liar in court? With his thirty seconds to stand up and say something he managed to sully the dignity of the place, and really piss off my lawyer. Lovely,all lovely. Whose divorce is this: mine, or my lawyer and mr. ex’s?

 

New papers had to be filed, because, well, that’s the way things go.

April 17: Lovely, lovely April day to see the judge. The date was written on pieces of paper; days off of work were taken; a suitable outfit was picked out; three sets of copies of months of supermarket receipts were made to prove that, indeed, I am buying food for my daughters; three copies of the bills I had paid with nary a 50% from him were made to prove that, yes, I am an upstanding woman of the world BUT some careless clerk or clumsy judge forgot to write my name on the big fancy Docket Diary and so there was no courtroom, no judge--no one to hear my case even in a hallway. There was nothing for me to do but go back to the bathroom and throw up in aggravation and angst.

Deadbeat Dad

"I don't want noodles. All you make is noodles!" my sixteen-year-old screamed at me at the end of another Laura-day. (That is a day filled with depressing news from my lawyer, parents e-whining about their children's grades, students inattentive/bored as I extol the wonders of Romeo and Juliet, third-day-in-a-row left-over lunch, morning supermarket stop for toilet paper, afternoon supermarket stop for milk and other essentials, gas station stop--Sunoco--for $15 worth of liquid gold, and grown-up conversation restricted to lunch half-hour.)

I HAD IT!

To hell with the psychologists and their theories of not telling the kids what's hiding under the rug.

"Do you know what a deadbeat dad is? Well that is your father! HE PAYS FOR NOTHING."

I think she was saying something to me as she retreated up the stairs.

"NOTHING BUT A COACH POCKETBOOK FOR YOU, THAT IS!"

And with that disappeared my "conversation" with my daughter, who was on her way to her room to close the door on her mad-mother. But at least she heard me, I think. Okay, so the next day she swooned to me that her father had paid for the Mac laptop she recently purchased with him even though originally he said that he would pay $400, and then he said that he wouldn't pay the $400 because she didn't do what he wanted her to do, but now, now it turns out that he is shelling out $1,300 for the laptop. It seems to me that it's a lot easier to be generous (and still be a DEADBEAT DAD) when you:

• don't buy food for your children;
• don't buy clothes for your children;
• don't buy contact lenses for your children;
• don't buy books for your children;
• don't buy school supplies for your children;
• don't pay school dues for your children;
• don't pay library fines for your children;
• don't pay for the SAT;
• don't give your children lunch money;
• don't give your children an allowance;
• don't give your children money for the movies;
• don't buy friends' birthday gifts for your children;
• don't put gas in your car to drive your children around;
• don't pay the cable bill, the water bill, the electricity bill, the garbage collection bill;
• --you get the idea.

So, because he is the bad guy--he gets to be the good guy! Speak of a paradox.

I will keep mentioning that he does not pay for those things because the facade needs to be dropped, they need to know what their father is and who their mother is. It doesn't seem fair or right to me that I spend energy pretending that he is better than he is when it is not good for me, or for them. Reality, babe, reality. They're old enough to do without the pretense, and it's too draining to pretend--especially at home.

The Legal System Has No Logic

Well, the boulder blocking the tunnel that is my life and which supposedly leads to a light at its end has just got even bigger. On May 23, the judge who apparently did not correctly schedule the judges and courtrooms for April 17, so that there was no one there to hear my case, and who closed my case because beastman said that I didn't show up and so forfeited my chance at a hearing, will now consider my motion to reopen my case.

Blubber'd. That's what I did when I read the email from my lawyer. I cried, I wailed. What is this? Nothing makes sense. I feel like I am living in a Twilight Zone version of reality where his twisted logic is the norm and mine is considered outrageous.

IT IS ABSURD. And I need to live through this and maintain a sense of sanity and stability.

People do crosswords and suduko to keep Alzheimer's at bay. Maybe lottery really is the only game in town, at least it would give me a glimmer, even if only ten million to one that there will be a light and a shorter tunnel.

Waiting forever for the Judge

Apparently, I am now waiting for a law clerk named Rocky to get some action going. The judge he clerks for has yet to decide if they need to reopen my case that was only closed because they had not scheduled a courtroom on the date they had scheduled my case to be heard, and so there was no place to be heard or judge to hear it. But, mr-ex somehow convinced the judge that I was not there, that I had not come on purpose, that I was not interested in having a hearing on an issue that I had filed in court, that somehow I had asked to be absent from the docket.

Looking back on these interactions or lack thereof with the courts, I can say that I am glad that I managed to stay out of them for most of the divorce and custody issues. Luckily, we, our lawyers and a mediator managed to get a somewhat workable agreement without going before a judge. Seeing how things are not in control there, how they are ruled by the vagaries of too big a bureacracy, and by far too many old white guys, I really am thankful that we were able to make most of the decisions in a more or less controlled environment. Although I bemoan so many things in these agreements, at least it was only between the beast and me, and not some judge who doesn't know us, nor does he care, nor can I be sure that he can discern truth from fiction. I guess it really could have been worse.

Now, on May 5th, I still wait to have a hearing on an issue that I filed in November 2007, namely his constantly harassing me, not complying with the PSA by not paying bills for home or children, and not cooperating in the sale of the home.

I was supposed to hear the judge's decision today or tomorrow, after having filed this letter to keep the case opened on April 24. I guess today is moot. I sure hope the judge likes his breakfast tomorrow, wears his most comfortable undies, and that Rocky doesn't give him any grief. I need a break, just like Rocky. (In which movie did he win?)

My Day in Family Court

On Thursday, April 17th, I was supposed to finally have my day in family court. I was supposed to defend the affidavit which I had filed against my ex-husband that stated point for point the instances when he had harassed me, or not paid monies to me, or not paid various bills, all of which illustrated that he was in contempt of court for not abiding by our Property Settlement Agreement (PSA) and Custody Order. This, of course, came almost two months before the February 22nd court date when the judge agreed with my ex-husband that our issue would need more than the “emergency” 30-minute hearing scheduled for that day. This, in turn, followed the February 8th court appearance that my lawyer cancelled because he did not like the judge who was selected to hear my case (he thought too many of his rulings were weird and that he could not be trusted to see the logic of my case).

So, more than three months after my first court hearing was supposed to have been heard, a judge or court clerk inadvertently did not write my case on the docket, and so there was no judge to hear my case, and there was no courtroom in which to unburden my grievances. I would have to wait again. I would have to: revise the affidavit, send it to my lawyer for his review, revise it again, sent it back to him until I receive his final okay, get it notarized, fax it to him, and then have him take it to court to schedule yet another court date. Not even taking into consideration that I (meaning my parents) would have to incur more costs from the lawyer, the emotional toll on this process is undeniable. The emotional toll on me—and my daughters—whose lives were being determined by the court and an unreasonable man (my ex and their father).

And all of this is because we are still living in the same house—even though we are divorced—because we can’t sell the house at it’s current price in this tight housing market and my ex-husband refuses to even discuss reducing the price. So, since my PSA doesn’t deal with this contingency, I must convince a judge to think outside the PAPER, and that (I have learned from my lawyer) is not something that judges like to do. So, I am stymied by an agreement that does not cover all possibilities and by a legal system that thinks that “if it’s not in the agreement, then it doesn’t matter.”

Updates to come.

Please share your experiences in family court. Hopefully, there may be a story that gives me hope that there is a light at the end of this tunnel. But if not, then I’ll have met some people who are in the same boat as I am in, and that is comforting (somewhat).