Today I signed paperwork. I handed sheets of paper over. I gave Isobel a banana and some stickers and plunked her down to be silent. I smiled. I thanked. I didn’t celebrate.
I should be celebrating.
Today was the day that my separation agreement got finalized and filed in court.
I don’t have to go back again, unless one of us takes the other back, in the hopes of changing or enforcing something we’ve agreed to.
I don’t have to scramble through my wardrobe for something that is smaller than a size 1 from my corporate days – since everything I wear now is by no means anything professional enough to wear in a court room (and I’m wearing smaller than a 0).
I don’t have to arrange babysitting for ‘hopefully only a couple of hours’ or take Isobel with me, looking pristine, and stop her from doing anything to mess that up on the way to and during proceedings.
I feel like I should breathe a huge sigh of relief cuz now, it’s done.
But like, I guess that means it’s done, right?
I’ve never thought about that much without anger in my heart. I’ve pretty much always been angry.
But I’m not, right now. And so in writing these lines, I started pondering that sentence, "It’s done, now."
I’m done thinking about it now. We’ll just add that to the list of ‘do not go there.’
