Either the sun is solar bursting, or the stars are all aligned. Perhaps the moon is waning, waxing, oh I don’t know, nevermind. Was it Mr Murphy’s Law, or God from up above? Jesus Christ perhaps, he is the Son of God, or was it Mohammed, Buddha, Thor? Or was it simply the scientific molecules of the cosmos, that all came together in a stunning co-incidence of the stage performance called “My Life” (a crack-your-funny-bone comedy)
Whatever it is, it must be laughing, because right now I feel like the joke is on me. No sooner have I revealed a piece of me with you (my divorce), than I’m doing the gig again – heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to my lawyer’s office I go. It’s the final showdown. The Last Chance Saloon. And it’s tomorrow at 2pm (was only advised at 3:30pm today).
This is the last little get-together, gathering, soiree so to speak, before we all face off in court and go for the jugular. This is the big leagues. Not only do we each have our own attorney present, but we have to hire an advocate as well. There will be a few too many people in this “Rule 37 Pre-Trial Conference” for my comfort. It will provide The Alcoholic with one FINAL chance to settle this ugly little divorce out of court.
I am terrified that I will be jerking, and ticking, and head-wobbling and stuttering and forgetting my way through this thing. And I’m terrified because I want so desperately for it to be over tomorrow. But, it’s out of my hands. I will deal with it tomorrow, there, at the lawyer’s office. And I will make sure I’m looking Fhaabulous Darlings. Full make-up, heels, and a take-no-prisoners-I-rock-my-world, independent, career woman game face on!