Sometimes, in my dreams, Mike (the boyfriend) and Jake (the ex-husband) are interchangeable, and I find this hugely uncomfortable upon waking. Sometimes they’ll just swap places mid-dream, or I’ll be doing something with Mike in my dream, only it’s Jake, but it’s really Mike. Sometimes I’ll relive something I did with Mike, only it’s Jake, and I’ll know it’s Jake and then what is normally nice and normal feels uncomfortable and icky and wrong.
I try not to compare the two relationships, only because I don’t want to be unfair to Jake, don’t want Mike to feel compared, don’t want to make out that these two people are in any way alike, or that I am in any way the same person I was then.
I was in Boston when I found out my divorce was final.
In late November, our lawyer let me know she had scheduled the "bifurcation hearing" for December 30th. This concerned me, as I was supposed to be on the other side of the country I was not terribly keen on abandoning my holiday plans to make a for-show appearance in an uncontested divorce. Jake was only required to be there by phone, so I asked for the same and hoped for the best.
On the train from New York to Boston, I worried a judge would call and I would have to discuss the details of my marriage and its demise while the armrest hog next to me and the kicking child behind listened in, but the phone didn’t ring.
I forgot about the hearing once I got to Boston. It was luck, really, that I heard my phone ring in my pocket while my friend and I cut through a department store on the way to the parking lot. It was our lawyer, congratulating me. No one needed to talk to me. The hearing was deemed not necessary. The divorce had become final the day before. I thanked her, and hung up.
My initial thinking, in hiring a divorce lawyer, was that I wanted to go ahead and let someone else do it. Our divorce was straightforward: we had no kids, no property. We had already agreed on a settlement, and, with the help of our fathers (both former lawyers) had drafted the settlement agreement ourselves.
We had an initial meeting, the three of us. Once we clarified our points, all that was left was sending in various forms to her, sending various forms to each other, signing various things in general, filing various papers.
This process took almost two years.
I started feeling as though something wasn’t right several months in – everything just appeared to be at a standstill. The majority of our correspondence with this woman was following up: “Has this been filed?” “Is there something more I need to do?” “Did you send me a copy of that paper?”
This year, for the first time, I wouldn’t have to face the nightmare of dealing – alone, since Jake is, as always, in China – with the complications of joint filing with someone who owned a business.
Finally, I could file single. Finally, the process and paperwork would be straightforward. Finally, I could get this done in February. I was even looking forward to the tedium, since the tedium would be all mine.
I have long believed in the good people of H & R Block. They have, for years, led me safely through the complexities that are Jake’s forms with nothing but kindness and sympathy. For this, my first solo tax return, I wanted to trust in them again.
Getting divorced has been, in many ways, merely tedious. The paperwork, the emails, the forms, the waiting in line.
The most time-consuming has been taking my name back, but the intense happiness of reclaiming myself largely mitigates my exacerbation at the amount of work involved in doing so.
The Social Security Office, for example. An intriguing place – from the woman who walked in screaming that they would see her now because she was being evicted in an hour and had no time to wait, to the man who tried to climb over the teller wall, to the woman clobbering the number-dispensing machine to death with her cane. The chairs are plastic and orange and uncomfortable, and the wait is long. But, by the end of the afternoon, I was myself again - according to the institution all other institutions look to.
How have you been? Is that a new haircut? You look good. I like those shoes. So, what’s going on with you?
Me? Yeah, sorry – kind of disappeared there. I know, I know, I should have left a message. Checked in. Something. I know, people worry. Feelings get hurt. Sorry about that.
Luckily – for those who feel some investment – my return means you’re in for a blow by blow of the last couple of months, complete with introspection, pondering, rhetorical questions, and (undoubtedly) overanalysis.
It’s been a bit of a time. The major highlights, to be discussed at length in the coming weeks:
My divorce is final (Huzzah!) as of December 29th, 2008 – a mere, oh, two years after starting the process.
Wait, wait – two years? Wasn’t this supposed to be a fairly straightforward process, what with the two of us having no kids, no property, no real disagreement?
Why, yes. And this brings us to the land of How Do You Know If Your Lawyer Is Screwing You, in a metaphorical and non-delightful way.
Steps forward in real life tend to make the imp that lives in my brain backpedal frantically. "Run, run!" he yips, waving his arms about, Kermit-like. "It's too much! Ruuuun!"
I've gotten much, much better at shutting him up. He shrills away, but I've learned, mostly, not to pay attention. But when it's a hard week, when I'm feeling overwhelmed, when I'm sad — that's when his voice gets harder to ignore.
This moving thing, for example. It's big. Sure, I was thinking about moving anyway. Sure, it's not all about the boy. But part of it is. Taking this step says we think we're actually going to make it. On my bad days, this is what I worry about: What if we're not? What if the magic and wonderfulness and perfection of what this actually hinges on is the fact that it's long distance?
It didn't help that our cohabitation experiment wasn't a success. That I handled it badly. That he's backtracked since then.
