It has been a weird beginning to my 2016. How is it for all of you? Are the planets aligned correctly for most of you? I’m thinking something’s a little off for me, but I remain hopeful that it can’t get worse. Right? Right?
I finally went to court for a divorce only to discover a couple days later that there are typos in our agreement, as well as mysterious additions that my ex-husband’s lawyer added AFTER both my lawyer and I had signed off. So Not Cool!
I can only blame myself. Honestly. In the surreal moment of being in the courthouse lobby, watching my soon-to-be-ex sitting next to his flamboyant lawyer with her full-length, shoulder-padded fur coat and two-tone bleached blonde and pink hair, and him in his flannel shirt, flooding jeans, and sloppy sneakers, thinking to myself:
Huh, even HE can’t be so disrespectful of the judge and the court system to come to court like that by accident; it must be a ploy to look poor.
Yes, in that weird moment of seeing my husband as a stranger, I took my eye off the ball and didn’t proofread one of the most important documents in my life.
Me! . . . who has made my living as a copy editor and proofreader for my entire professional life, when I’m not writing novels, that is. And see what happens. We will most likely end up back in court. And I am so over this whole brain-draining, gut-twisting, nerve-fraying divorce.
And speaking of brains, I managed to make mine bleed when I hit my head while riding this monster of a roller coaster — to be precise The Hollywood Rip Ride Rockit (yes, spelled like I am going to feel like a “rock” has bashed me in the head) at Universal Studios in Orlando:
While hundreds of people apparently enjoyed the ride that day in early January, I managed to get a concussion and an actual subdural hematoma. Fun stuff!! Which may explain why I missed the scrivener’s errors and slight-of-pen of opposing attorney in court a couple weeks later during the divorce.
But look at that roller coaster! Why didn’t I vet it and say, “Nah, I’ll pass.” I wouldn’t be sitting here now with the floor under my chair seeming to pitch and roll like the deck of a ship during a squall.
Me and my hematoma sorta look like this, except I do have the front of my skull and forehead, and I have hair and eyelashes. Otherwise, this is totally me:
And over 30 days later since the Rockit, and I’m still enjoying the souvenirs of the trip: headaches, dizziness, nausea. Don’t tell me you don’t get what you pay for with a trip to Orlando . . . long-lasting memories, or perhaps all your memories wiped out if the hematoma was any bigger.
Sad to say, I think the blood clot that is pressing on the upper right side of my brain is less painful than divorce. This Valentine’s Day, as an historical romance writer, I could say a lot of flowery words about love, or I could tell you the history of the Valentine’s Day card. Instead, I offer these small words of advice from the brain-bruised: Treat each other kindly — whether new love, old love, lost love, or even once-upon-a-time love that is no more. Happy Valentine’s Day!