So. The last of the court's paperwork is about complete. Didn't get it done within the 20 day period that would have avoided the requirement to have a court appearance. Oh, well. We'll spend 20 minutes at the City & County Building. I seriously don't expect it to take more trouble than a traffic ticket, and I don't know how I feel about that.

The weird thing is that it's paperwork. So I've been telling myself for a while. It's not the important part. But it turns out not to be just paperwork. It was already a very unexpectedly heavy slog. Then she looked at me and said "You want to do this?"

Well, fuck. It's only been years, with two useless turns through couples counseling and endless repetition of the same fucking discussion/argument and no change and not even any significant communication about anything not completely practical. So, yes I want to finish this stupid fucking paperwork.

But no, I don't want to reject you and throw away all this history. I don't want this divorce. I just don't...

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Dunno what I did to deserve these fucking back spasms. I've not had trouble with this for a long time now, pretty much since I started working on strengthening the core muscles after the pinched nerve incident 4 years ago. Before that, lower back pain was a pretty regular problem for me. But especially over the last couple years, when I've done a regular gym routine, I've had almost no problems.

Then wham yesterday morning. I was fine at the gym and when I arrived at work. Stood up to go to a meeting at 10 am, and my back informed me that it was just plain fucked up. I don't remember tweaking it in any specific event. The ache was just suddenly there, like it always had been, and I just wasn't noticing it for a while.

The only explanation I can think of is that I got out of the morning gym routine while traveling to the PCA event. I wonder if I'm now addicted to the stupid exercise, and the bod is going to go into withdrawal spasms if I ever skip. Weird.

And another thing that's weird is counting...

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LAX - Auckland - Sydney - LAX would cost about $2K. I still wonder how cheaply I could stay lodged there for, say, a month with nonobnoxious levels of couch surfing, camper rental (or car + camping gear rental), etc. etc.

Darwin! The Great Barrier Reef! Fistfights with beery Aussies outside cheap Sydney pubs at 1am! And Cassie specifically *invited* me!!

And whoa! The fare drops to $1500 if I schedule it for August instead of July. That would be their spring, I'm thinking. And thinking and thinking and . . .

So for a year since the separation and most of 2 years before that, I've been dealing with the reality of the end of this relationship. Longer than that, if you count back to the first try at counseling. Longer than THAT if you consider what was going into that counseling and how it went.

So today we went to the courthouse and filed papers with the county to wind up the process. That sounds like an awful, bureaucratic way to state what happened. But what happened was plain old boring bureaucracy. We filed papers with the county. What the fuck difference should that make?

It does, though. It felt hard and heavy. My thoughts at the time were that it could have been SO much heavier. She took it easy on me. She could have made it suck worse than it did. She just walked through it. I admire that.

But fuck it. This has been wrong. It's not moved even a speck in the direction of right. It's been and will continue to be a mismatch. Less pain to both of us to stop doing that.

Right?

I...

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Surely Lee will want to use this as the basis for a campaign to promote their jeans as work pants.

So what's the rule on usage of this 'date' word? How much does it imply sex? Is it still a date if you both know that no sex will result? Is sex required for a 'hot date' or could that just be one with a heightened sense of fun or intensity or potential or something? is sex possible without any specific dating?

One of the many aspects of this 'dating' language that confuses me is the linkage to sex. I'm aware of the more or less universal acknowledgment that everybody who's dating is doing so with the goal of at least sex, and many want that to be part of a big-whoop, capital R Relationship. Dating is the way you get from acquaintance to routine bed partner, it would seem. Is that all it is?

To me, company makes a lot more sense as a goal. Seems like all those layers of expectations would nearly kill any prospects for the bigger connection, unless both somehow miraculously want exactly the same things. Given the inevitability of some mismatch, clarification of expectations is an undeniably vital part of coupling (in all senses of that word). Why would you want to start out under the weight of all that, while you're still uncertain about who's going to be into what with what balance of want and need and hope? You'll have to take that on as a joint project if things progress to that point, but it seems like an obstacle to simple friendly company in the early stages.

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My rear end is nice and straight now, with no more crooked bumper smile. Makes a large difference! Although now the stupid computer is detecting some unknown problem with the lights. The shop didn't get the high brake light hooked up correctly, I suspect. I suppose I'll have to go back to them for the adjustment.

Dear Other Driver, You know that thing you do, where we're both merging onto a new road and you're behind me on the ramp and the instant you get clear, you suddenly swerve around from behind and swoop up to block me from merging onto the same road because you're so absolutely desperate to go 5 mph faster than I'm currently going? Well, when you do that you demonstrate arrogance and self-absorption so complete that they effectively negate your privilege even to continue breathing, in my humble opinion, let alone to drive on the same roads as sensible people. You know, my 13 year old car is carrying 180,000 miles, and it's pretty solid so I'd do pretty well in any collision, plus I'm well-insured. You might want to think about those facts as you're deciding whether to behave like the complete asshole you so clearly are. Go back home and kick your dog instead. The worst you'll get from that is a nasty bite to the ankle -- which, by the way, you will richly deserve. Fuck you, Booker

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