 |
| found on the internets |
The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head.
Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried
I am in a dream these days, some part a deep and abiding sense of being loved and another a nightmare. I walked down the dingy halls of the courthouse earlier this week, dread and bewilderment masked by cheer and a dull gratitude for beloveds flanking me. What does it mean to be unreasonable? The word contempt. Marriage. Divorce. Years. Papers filed by lawyers and a whole system constructed by. By. The halls of justice are really halls. The metaphors of justice do justice. There must be a system. I stare at the back of a head whose folds I know. Metta. The Virgin Mary. Those old tricks. I age ten years. I dig for humor some days later, dogged and dogged and find it in the 55+ menu at IHOP where I am not questioned and order a full plate breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast and hash browns. The coffee was good.
I love you my brilliant friend.
ReplyDeleteThe halls of justice can certainly hold a special kind of hell, can't they?
ReplyDeleteI love you, woman.
You are spectacular, and I love you and hope this awfulness resolves as you wish it to. Lovelovelove.
ReplyDeleteI ache for you, Elizabeth. You don't deserve this barbaric treatment. You deserve respect, love, all good things. I am so glad you have many around you who know this. And I also appreciate the hearty breakfast you fed yourself with! Make mine a double!
ReplyDeleteDon't let the bastard grind you down, singular, not plural.
ReplyDeleteSending hugs and smiles.
What you are describing does sound like wartime. Thank goodness that you carry with you "a deep and abiding sense of being loved."
ReplyDeleteJesus fucking christ. I'm sorry. This is so hard and ugly and I send you all love and whatever ferocity I found in those family court basement hellscapes.
ReplyDeleteI am so sorry, Elizabeth. Please, let’s meet soon in Tucson. We can laugh and bury our cares in lovely chile relleno burritos.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry... the Halls of Justice certainly are a special kind of Hell sometimes... may this all resolve favorably for you.
ReplyDeleteI hope it all works out the best for you. How sad that love can turn ugly when it ends. That is one beautiful breakfast!
ReplyDeleteBest,
Bonnie
I applaud you for taking something horrible and making it an interesting and even beautiful post. I'm rooting for you. Really loud.
ReplyDeleteI am glad you have beloveds flanking you -- both IRL and here in blogland!
ReplyDeleteSo sorry you heave to deal with so much .... Sending much love and light your way, always.
ReplyDeleteSoem things will never make sense. Some hurts will stay on. No matter how much we shout that it's not fair.
ReplyDeleteThere are bastards around every corner.
But: also love and compassion. You have shown this to me in so many blog posts.
Sending a big hug across the oceans and lands.
In your corner ... with a bottle of cold water and a cloth to wipe the blood from your mouth. You'll get through it. xoxo Kate
ReplyDeleteI tried to comment on an earlier post, but somehow it never went through. Just know that you are in my thoughts, that I hope all good comes to you, that I am glad you are surrounded by those "beloveds" in this heartrending time. As a child, I walked those halls, during my parent's divorce. I remember. May you be upheld in love, always.
ReplyDeleteWhat the Fuck indeed.
ReplyDelete