I'm staying at J~'s house in the shady, breezy countryside tonight in order to avoid my stuffy third floor apartment in the heat-wave city. Since I must be showered and dressed and on the road by seven a.m., I won't be writing my usual first-thing-Wednesday-morning entry. Responsible blogger that I am, I'm writing now, instead.
Tomorrow is D-Day: Divorce Day. I'm meeting my mother (my witness) and my soon-to-be-ex downtown at nine for the main event. "I hope it goes well," my friend L~ said on the phone just a minute ago, "though I don't know what 'well' means for this sort of thing."
"It means that we have an easy time finding parking, that everyone shows up on time, and that we're in and out within a half-hour," I replied.
Indeed, that's all I'm hoping for. After twelve years together, I want the quickest possible divorce.
I'm so ready to be divorced.
I'm so SO ready.
It'll be three months before the final divorce papers come in the mail, but next time I write, I should be in official divorce limbo.
I should also be out of am-I-or-am-I-not-pregnant limbo, yet again.
My period is due tomorrow, perhaps the next day.
This is getting to be a regular thing with me, this slim chance of pregnancy. J~ and I did use condoms this cycle. That is, until the fourteenth day, probably post-ovulation, when we threw caution to the wind. (What wind? There's no wind! We talked and we decided we were ready, simple as that.) Blame it on hormones, blame it on divorce emotions, blame it on the heat wave, but as slim as the chances are, I still kind of hope I am pregnant.
Who knows, it may have been too late to conceive this time, but not too late to keep me from speculating, and from letting you in on the suspense.