I came home yesterday to a pile of receipts and some other odds and ends on the table. There is nothing like the feeling of something not making sense and trying to figure it out. Sometimes I imagine I have the spinning hourglass over my head. I turned around to face the living room and all of my electronics were gone. Well, that tears it: robbed. It’s never good timing, is it? It feels kind of extra bad right now because the house was the good thing happening, and it still is, I have to remember that. As I tried to go to sleep last night I had this feeling of wanting to go home, like I was on some kind of nightmare extended trip, but I am home. Bad things can happen in your home and you have to kind of move forward and pave over them with better things.
The good news is that the thieves were kind of morons–I guess if they weren’t they would have, like, real jobs? I assume it was kids, because most of what they took was Franny’s, including all of her pajamas, strangely. They weren’t even like super fancy jammies, either. So today for her birthday, I took her pajama shopping and got her a couple of other odds and ends since some of her other clothes were nicked. The electronics they took either needed set up software or they could be bricked remotely. Passwords were easy to change and took only a few minutes. I haven’t even finished hanging up all my pictures yet.
The receipts were on the table because my purse itself, which contained nothing valuable, had been emptied and stolen. My camera happened to be on me at work, which is nice. I haven’t been robbed since I was a kid–and then it was my parents, of course. All of my stuff is kind of old and outdated and/or easily rendered useless. I have crappy weird antiques, mostly, and a lot of books and kitchen stuff. Overall I think we were a bad score–I don’t even have a TV. But it sucks because I liked my $80 refurb laptop from dinosaur times. If they knew what they were doing, they wouldn’t have bothered even unplugging it.
The thing that people say when you are robbed is that it’s such a violation. I don’t really feel that. My house felt the same, only messier, and emptier. I feel like the real damage is that now the girls are nervous, and I worry about that. The officer who took the report was very reassuring about people not being hit twice close together–of course not, all of the things of apparent value are gone.
In other amazing news in these amazing end times, my trial has been postponed again. I sort of feel like I can’t really talk to people about this anymore. It’s like going into your twelfth year of having some obscure disease. “How’s it going, still dying?” Yes. Anyway, it’s pushed out to November, the week of FANGSGIVING. The temporary parenting plan says that we have her for that week but her stepmother told her they have her that week, so I imagine that will be another fight. I really don’t understand the confusion over a line of text that says: Thanksgiving, mother, even years. TWELVE IS STILL EVEN, RIGHT? I told SeaFed recently that he should perhaps consider sitting down with another adult and reviewing the parenting plan, like his wife, but wow do I take that back now.
My lawyer suggested I try to settle with him just for funsies, so I emailed him and told him I would pay his half of the GAL fee if he signed now, and we could avoid missed work for trial. Because I am a jolly cockface I pointed out that this would also save me the trouble of filing a lien to get the money later. This, of course, has been entered as a THREAT against him in his trial brief. His trial brief is not quite the comedic document that his divorce proceedings were (which for some reason included the FACT that only 6% of his diet is snacks) or for that matter his impassioned defense against the evil known as child support (which included a moving passage urging the commissioner to change child support guidelines right then and there in court for his case, as well as some fascinating math that ended in a calculation that his fair share was $81 a month and that the King County Office of the Prosecuting Attorney was in my pocket, hello hello mind the lint and crumbs boys), but it still has its moments.
He turned in his trial brief late and as monstrous hard copy. Once my attorney submitted hers, which was terse, easy to follow, and contained actual case law citations, he turned in another document, claiming that he had accidentally left part of his trial brief off. This document, naturally, looked a lot more like hers. My lawyer has asked the commissioner to award a portion of attorney’s fees due to intransigence and general jerkymandering, so naturally he has asked for attorney’s fees as well (N.B.: He still has no attorney). He has also asked for me to be supervised by a CASE MANAGER because I am bad, bad, super bad, and naughty. The basis for this is that I gave him a few days’ notice the weekend I moved that I would not be able to drive Franny all the way to his city that day, and he would have to make arrangements to pick her up at school. Also I should be held in CONTEMPT OF COURT because of this. Okay, his trial brief is not really fuck yeah, caplocks, but it kind of has that flavor. Or maybe some Random capitalization for Emphasis.
Unfortunately my deviation from the letter of the temporary parenting plan one time in eleven months has made him decide it’s now a good idea to begin text/email harassment three days before any drop off is supposed to happen. The good news is that this harassment prompted my lawyer to push back and point out that he was violating the parenting plan himself by not remitting her passport to me. He went away but has ignored her request.
So, as I said: endtimes. I am going to write about this, and then it will be done, and I will dénouement around a little, and then I will be happy to put this to bed.
My last word today is that this is the only time in about 8 years that I have wanted to have a TV. Dr. Horrible is airing live tonight on the CW. I will have to catch it later.