Today is the day I have been waiting for since early April.
The first leg of my in-depth custody evaluation begins at 10.
I haven't been personality tested since high school.
Oregon is a no-fault divorce state. As far as the court is concerned, they could give a rat's infected ass about Fuck My Wife ads, stranger-donated blow jobs on the couch with the children asleep upstairs, and that the philandering husband travels three to four days a week. As far as a simple divorce is involved, who cares? However, once children are involved, those sorts of things become custody issues -- and the only person who cares about those things is a custody evaluator. And a very expensive one, might I add. But he will take those lapses in judgment into consideration when he mades his reco to the court. A judge would have ignored it.
The Manny and his braintrust board of directors will be playing the crazy card, followed with a dose of medical marijuana harassment, followed by a rash of hot lies and exaggerations, and then try to drive it all home with a story about a lady who went bonkers and left her husband over a little high fructose corn syrup in a bunch of fictional women's soda pop. The five-page slamifesto his lawyers preemptively twittered out to the evaluator about my ineptitudes as a human/mother read like a one-hour dramady that smacks of Ally McBeal and the baby-dancing days. I received it on Friday via the attorneys I am trying to release (with little success). The Manny's granny's have very smartly written a letter purporting to be in his very own words. He hasn't written anything longer than 5-pages that wasn't in power point in about 10 years, but what's the harm in another little pile of lies?
The only thing at stake here is the children. There is no money. There is no power. There is no property. There are no assets at all. There is nothing left but the two people who demanded to be here on this earth, via my body and who are made mostly of me. They are used to a geographically absentee father with a work addiction and a mother who is ready and available for them at all times, just let me adjust my schedule. I am not saying he's not a good dad. I am saying he's a pain in my ass to have to share custody with because my life is beholden to his shitty last-minute schedule. I am not his wife anymore, which means I don't have to live and die by his work any longer. And neither should our children.
I've waited patiently for seven months for an opportunity to say so to someone who gives a fuck about the lessons about life and love I have yet to teach my children and is able to restore my rightful place in the better memories of their lives.
And with that, I'm off to fight fierce for love and passion.
Fuck money. That follows passion.