i am currently getting a divorce. probably the most frustrating thing about that is i have never been married. huh? okay, so not actually getting a divorce, but may as well be.
six months ago, i had a boyfriend. we had been together six years. SIX. that's a lot for me. he was beautiful. i loved him. i still do. he is the perfect catch. good looking, successful and one of the most genuine people you'll meet (and now single - call 555 I AM A DICK and I'll set the two of you up). anyway, for reasons i cannot explain (and others i can but won't just now), we came to a point where we decided we were not MEANT to be. our relationship had run it's course.
blah, blah, blah...i have a lawyer. mr X and i owned property. moguls, for shizzle. so we have to have a separation agreement. even though we are amicable, and smart, and can sit down over a coffee or three and split possessions in a fair and rational manner, the world says "nope, sorry, you have a pay a lawyer an outlandish sum of money so they can turn your completely logical ideas and conclusions into jargon that resembles wingdings more so than English. because you don't understand what they are saying, or what you're reading, you'll succumb to their jaw-dropping fees just to get the hell out of their office and finally farewell the situation you're in".
this is my life at the moment. X's lawyer writes document. posts it to me (even though X could have just given it to me when we caught up for coffee two days earlier) with 800 canary-yellow stickers which say SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE...you get the point.
i choose not to even look at it. en route to MY lawyer, for no apparent reason other than a build up of "this fucking sucks", I start to cry. idiot. i find a park, compose myself and walk towards MY lawyer's office. i walk in.
"Hi, I have a 12 o'clock with *i can feel that, piss off throat lump, not in front of the receptionist* David Johnson," phew, survival.
"No worries, take a seat."
there's no New Idea from September, 1997 to help me take my mind of things. this is particularly unfortunate because i was really hoping for an update on Princess Di. did you know she died? seriously.
"hi Kate, how are you? my name's Alice, come on through"
first thought; you're delightful. second; you're not David. David is on his way back from Brisbane apparently. Alice will start of our consultation by getting the background.
"Let's start at the start," says Alice. good plan. my response, tears. she is empathetic, and searches for tissues. i am mortified. if you don't know me, i usually play the hardarse card. want vulnerability? you will NOT find it here. but then i figure, she doesn't know this, or me...more tears.
"i'm sorry, i'm sorry...i'm fine." obviously. we proceed. life story is told, peppered with teary episodes. David arrives. goddamit, it's so much easier to cry in front of women. i know they're both thinking i have been left at the altar or experienced some equally horrific, one-sided breakup but, no, just having an emo day.
anyway, i think one of the things that really scares me is i've come to a point of requiring a lawyer. that i actually need a third party to give me professional advice, assistance and a whopping bill. i don't even have an accountant. i don't even have a doctor. i *sob* don't *sob* even *sob* have *sob* a *sob* booooooyfriiiend *waaaaaaaaaaa*
over it though. really.