Ducks.....

Well here we are....twenty (20) days away from my final hearing in my divorce. I am pleased (oddly) to say that as of March 29th it will have been one year since I moved out.  Granted, at that point I was still under the impression that perhaps we were in a trial separation and would reconcile. It was a week, maybe two, later that I was informed, over the phone mind you, that he wanted a divorce.  Since I can't remember that exact date, we're just going to pretend that I knew the minute I left that it was over, thus the "healing" began.  So here we are, less than three weeks away from seeing him, hearing his voice, occupying the same room as him for the first time SINCE APRIL 2009.  That made me want to yak a little.  But I'm getting my ducks in a row. 

Outfit? Check.  Black silky pants, sexy yet tasteful red shirt, pointy low heeled shoes, subtle earrings. 

Hair? Check.  Appointment next Saturday for cut and color.  He has not seen me as a brunette and that in and of itself should be interesting.

Zannie? Check.  Got a new script for Klonopin yesterday.  I will be popping at least a half one of those beforehand. It's like a zannie, but it doesn't make me a total bitch the following day.  I haven't an ounce of guilt about self medicating on the way in. 

Make up? Check.  Will be up in the judge's secretary's office letting her touch it all up. 

I guess that's about it. Ducks should be at the very least close to being in a row.  If not, I'll snap them in line between now and then.  I started looking at pictures of him, just to acclimate myself to his stupid self again.  i look at old pictures and think "SERIOUSLY?????"  But that's a whole nother blog.  I am also preparing myself for his posse. I can see his parents, natural and step, all in tow. Brother? Maybe.  Girlfriend? Doubtful, if he has any part of a brain.  Regardless, white trash people tend to band together in a crisis, and the more drama, the more involved they are.  He may not have spoken to his mother for two years, but let something happen, and BAM! There she is, bleached blonde hair, black roots, no bra and polyester pants about an inch too short (at least he gets it honest). *(Editor's note: This is the same woman who stole groceries from us when she babysat....Nuff Said.) One bff has insisted she could be there. I would love it but hate for her to miss work. Also, a little afraid she'd shank him in the hallway. Regardless, I do not plan on having a cheering section.  Just me and my lawyer/boss. This may show more maturity. It may backfire. Who knows?  But in twenty short days, at the VERY least, the judge will rip the uncertainty from underneath me, even if judgment is not in my favor.  I may be fucked, I may walk out smelling like a rose.  Either way, I won't have to write his last name again.  And it will be less than three months from the court date until the end of this blog.  Somehow, having some certainty will at least let me know HOW i need to cope between now and then.  Until then, lemme gather the ducks and line them up. . . .