Shouldn't…but Do

I thought I would be divorced by now.

But I am not.

A six-week wait for a draft Divorce Decree from counsel for X yielded a sketchy, incomplete physical rendering of a document that must capture every single detail to avoid more…confusion.  Just today, the Very Expensive Lawyer transmitted a proper draft Decree after starting the document anew.

I thought the occasion of the Great Trial settled things.

But it did not.

Shortly after the Trial, a disagreement arose over a seemingly small detail that is actually very large.  The matter may itself be heading back to a courtroom.

I thought my small home might be refinanced free and clear by now.

But it is not.

Transactions to clarify and confer new home ownership cannot occur until Divorce Decrees to clarify and confer new life ownership are signed.  Shortly, pertinent dates will pass and the refinancing must be started again.  More money, time, and effort thrown away.

I thought the spring would come.

And it did.

My presence in my bog has been slight in past weeks.  Fatigue, for me, proffers observation, not expression.  As such, one of the richest gifts of this now almost two-year ordeal is understanding the greatness of  friends associated with me.  Each one unique, yet each a dazzling thread in a luminous tapestry that stretches just far enough to catch me, each time I fall.  Tempering touch  keeps me between heaven and hell – suspended.  It is a place to Be.

So many years ago, I thought I wanted to know.

And I do.

Driving along, singing a song, button punching on the FM dial.

Life in the fast lane – life once lived.  Friends, interests, pleasures pursued, laughter, so much laughter.  The so-trivial pursuit of falling in and out of love – who is with who – and oh, that was last week.  Restaurants, champagne, night drives in the desert, moonlight, star bright, ocean deep – so much.

Struggling to keep up – a mirror – it never occurs.  Flashing school bus lights, battles over custody rights.  Friends – let that go too, what was then is not now.  The so-trivial pursuit of escape from matrimony.  Coupons, cold sweat at the cash register – too little of too much.

Funny how an old song – tune, words, time – gives back so much more than memory.

Seasons change.  Winter’s grip eased with trial and time, spring is undeniably here.  Today I took off my gloves.

Each winter, each day, inside or out, I wear knit gloves.  My hands chill quickly, chilblains, unsightly,  gloves help.  This winter into spring, the fahrenheit fell with my child support.  When alone, turning down the thermostat was an economical, albeit cold, measure.

Gloves are useful, especially mine.  Stretchy, conforming, let me navigate a lot of the world without actually touching its colder surfaces.  Protection.

But gloves leave me out of touch.  Leafing pages is difficult,  a warm handshake unfelt. Correspondence, interchange, presence in the tactile world is difficult.  Limitation.

Like many people these days, I am looking for work.  These words, and the hands that form them, must touch the world, and help me find my way.  Time for these gloves, those habits – that protected so faithfully – to yield to a warming world.

The gloves are off, my hands are healed.  No longer covered, they traffic in this world, and so I hope, will I.  Seasons change.