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It is another quiet night; one in which Stubs the cat walks up and down the hall, howling for attention. It takes me some time to quiet him down as he panics about being alone. I assure him that my life span will cover his many times over; and while he is not convinced, he calms down. Between Taekwondo and running, I can see why he might worry. There is that lovely pain that creeps up my arms and blankets my legs. The pain is part of the training. No, training isn't the right word. Training implies a goal. People like goals. Goals can fall in a neat little sequence. They are the jelly beans we place ahead of us in the pile of dog shit we call life, because you don't see the dog shit when your eyes on the jelly bean. And no matter how great you think the Jelly bean is, it still ends up tasting like dog shit.
It isn't training so much as doing. You get that high that comes after pounding your feet on the pavement for a little while, and if you are forty something fat guy, the high comes quickly, like the rum and cokes your lover makes you when she is trying to get some. And oh does she get some. I am one hell of a cheap date. Really, it takes almost no effort at all to get into my pants. Actually, it takes some effort to get me to put them back on. Lately it is so damn hot, it takes a lot of effort to get me to put on any clothes at all. Poor Stubs has been scarred for life.
Taekwondo comes with that delicious adrenaline rush, when you are never quite sure if your partner may accidentally kick your head clean off into the parking lot. It is a bit like my old marriage, except we get to wear padding, and we shake hands afterwards instead of letting our aggression ferment like kimchi for twenty years.
Filing the show cause order had the collective power of nothing in helping me see my daughter. It makes me wonder why I bothered with a contract at all. My daughter was appointed a lawyer who said she was going to reinstate visitation. They call her lawyer an Ad litem, which is Latin for...well who cares. She is an advisor to the court, and my daughter's attorney. My case is moving at warp factor five legal speed, which is slightly above doing nothing. But not as slow as going backwards. She seemed like a nice enough lady, and I smiled and nodded during our meeting. I have to keep my anger about all of this on the inside.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the ex is threatening a show cause order, because I paid her a few days late. She says she won't remove the show cause even after I pay her. Show cause orders don't work like that, but it is all she can do. From what I can tell, her life is inching towards an abyss, and I may be part of the elbow grease. She is taking my family with her. It's like I am in one of those movies where the guy gets thrown from the car before it flies into a ravine. I am held hostage by her bad decisions and there isn't much I can do about it from here.
But I would be lying if I didn't say I am not happier. Being happy comes with it's own guilt. It comes in a convenient package. It all sort of meshes. But it also comes with a girl; a good girl when she needs to be, and a bad girl when I need her to be.
It isn't training so much as doing. You get that high that comes after pounding your feet on the pavement for a little while, and if you are forty something fat guy, the high comes quickly, like the rum and cokes your lover makes you when she is trying to get some. And oh does she get some. I am one hell of a cheap date. Really, it takes almost no effort at all to get into my pants. Actually, it takes some effort to get me to put them back on. Lately it is so damn hot, it takes a lot of effort to get me to put on any clothes at all. Poor Stubs has been scarred for life.
Taekwondo comes with that delicious adrenaline rush, when you are never quite sure if your partner may accidentally kick your head clean off into the parking lot. It is a bit like my old marriage, except we get to wear padding, and we shake hands afterwards instead of letting our aggression ferment like kimchi for twenty years.
Filing the show cause order had the collective power of nothing in helping me see my daughter. It makes me wonder why I bothered with a contract at all. My daughter was appointed a lawyer who said she was going to reinstate visitation. They call her lawyer an Ad litem, which is Latin for...well who cares. She is an advisor to the court, and my daughter's attorney. My case is moving at warp factor five legal speed, which is slightly above doing nothing. But not as slow as going backwards. She seemed like a nice enough lady, and I smiled and nodded during our meeting. I have to keep my anger about all of this on the inside.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the ex is threatening a show cause order, because I paid her a few days late. She says she won't remove the show cause even after I pay her. Show cause orders don't work like that, but it is all she can do. From what I can tell, her life is inching towards an abyss, and I may be part of the elbow grease. She is taking my family with her. It's like I am in one of those movies where the guy gets thrown from the car before it flies into a ravine. I am held hostage by her bad decisions and there isn't much I can do about it from here.
But I would be lying if I didn't say I am not happier. Being happy comes with it's own guilt. It comes in a convenient package. It all sort of meshes. But it also comes with a girl; a good girl when she needs to be, and a bad girl when I need her to be.