Conversations with My Dead Mother (Pt. 2)

Dear Mama,

It has been a week of ups and downs – So much to celebrate but my damn anxiety really inhibits the celebration. I wonder if you had anxiety? I don’t recall you having anxiety or maybe that was one of the “evils of the world” that you tried very hard to keep from me, like dad’s drug addiction. I still marvel at how you were able to keep that one a secret for fifteen years. Normally, this would have angered me but I think I was old enough to understand that you did it out of pure and intense love for your children. I thank you for that.

I filed the final judgment paperwork for my divorce today at the courthouse, ma. Ya know, I thought I’d just go down there, turn in the paperwork and not feel much different. If I felt anything, maybe just a bit of relief because I accomplished an errand but no, I felt tremendous weight lifted. I think having no expectations was what made it feel so damned good. I wish you were here – you would have been the first person I called. You’re with me all the time, though, right?

I can’t wait to receive the mail informing me of my official divorce date. It is a date in the near future that I greatly look forward to and I have every intention on celebrating in a very big way. I’m fortunate to have some friends and my boyfriend that will be right there with me, toasting to my freedom as well.

Today, though, I came to the conclusion that there are some people who simply have no interest in my life yet I continue to exert my energy with interest in theirs. I shouldn’t say I came to the conclusion because this has been on my mind for quite some time but rather, I was able to arrange it in my thoughts in a way that is plain and simple to understand. I think, sometimes, I confuse things easily or I begin with the self-doubt but really it’s just a matter of no longer giving a part of myself to others who have no interest in giving me a part of him or herself.

And then, as if the Universe was speaking directly to me and I believe it was, one of my dearest friends (Meg, you know Meg!) posts this on her Facebook wall:


Or trust the vibes you don’t get, I suppose!

I think that’s about all for now, mama. I love you more than words could ever convey.




Taxes and Twain

Not only did I see David yesterday for the first time in six months, I sat directly next to him in a small office of a highly recommended tax consultant, breathing the same stuffy air for what felt like one of the longest hours of my life. When he arrived late and walked through the door, we cordially said hello and I’m happy to report that the initial sight of him did nothing warm and fuzzy to me – not in the least bit. I purposely avoided eye contact as much as was possible and I also evaded any potential personal questions that were not directly related to the business transaction that was filing our taxes.

After receiving the professional advice of our tax consultant, we decided to file an extension in effort to maximize our deductions. An additional appointment was set up and David and I exited the building together. As we made our way to the parking lot, he politely divulged information related to the divorce paperwork and civil court proceedings and informed me that he had arrived at the tax offices via Lyft, a car service company. The goodness in me, the fucking endlessly compassionate heart I carry around on my sleeve was feeling generous as I patiently waited for him to finish what he was saying. Just as I was about to kindly offer him a lift to the nearest MTA station, the Universe reminded me of exactly why I was discussing divorce with this stranger standing in front of me in the first place; Why I am, in fact, a better person than he and why I will not be walked on by his selfish, inconsiderately clueless ways any longer.

David began to state that we owe the IRS exclusively due to my self-employment income and I knew exactly the acquisitive direction in which he was headed with it.

And you want me to pay for it?” I calmly asked with a slight grin and nod of my head, knowing full well the answer to my rhetorical question.

Yes,” he greedily declared with authority as I coolly turned and walked away from him, toward my car.

You can’t say that that isn’t fair!” He shouted after me as I continued the short walk toward my car, thankfully increasing the distance between us as all compassion had immediately been replaced by rage that was speedily reaching its boiling point.

I turned toward him, a sarcastic smile apparent upon my face and I serenely appeased him with, “I never said it wasn’t.”

I got into my car and sped away while he walked down the street. It wasn’t until I was out of sight that I allowed myself to explode into a semi-blinding, headache inducing, gasping for oxygen rage. This was quickly followed up by my first minor anxiety attack in months as I tried to explain to my auntie who was now on the telephone exactly why I was so dramatically upset. I couldn’t believe the negative effect I allowed David to have on me afterward though I was proud of my calm demeanor in front of him. He has not deserved my energy or my presence, for that matter, for quite some time and the Universe eloquently demonstrated this for me. I am listening, loud and clear. Thankfully I will never again make the mistake of being giving toward someone who gives me nothing but immense heartache.

David text me about half an hour later, “I’m sorry if I upset you. That wasn’t my intention.”

His empty apology made me chuckle at its garish irrelevance. Clearly, six months has changed absolutely nothing – David has no plans in accepting his responsibility for anything anytime soon, if ever. I’m not holding my breath – that’s for damn sure.

Later in the evening, I civilly informed him, via text, that I was not going to allow him to fuck me over in such a way, that he would be held accountable for half of whatever may or may not be owed to the Internal Revenue Service. I reminded him that the decision for me to become self-employed was a mutual one made when we were still “happily” married, foregoing to add that the decision was made in a last ditch effort to save our marriage with its ideal flexible schedule. I also rightfully pointed out that the majority of the deductions were coming from expenses that were solely mine – business expenses that were being used to his benefit but you didn’t hear me complaining.

And let me just talk to my readers real quick about one of the larger assets being used as a deduction in our taxes – that brand new vehicle David just had to have in lieu of a used one – you know, the one he almost totaled after putting only about sixty miles on its odometer? You know, the one he conveniently didn’t need any longer once we decided to separate? Somewhere in his warped mind, I believe he honestly thinks he did me a “favor” in “giving” me the car. If I recall correctly, his exact words were once, “You’re welcome.”

Sure, it’s a great car – I am grateful that I have reliable transportation to get me where I need to go, namely my job, but when you figure in all of the money that goes into this expensive possession, David was hardly doing me any “favors.” He was selfishly saving his own sorry ass from being financially responsible for hefty car payments, insurance, gas and maintenance, which he later rubbed in right in front of me to our old landlord. That conversation went something like, “Oh yeah, it’s gonna be great! I can walk to work. I don’t have to pay for gas or worry about car payments and insurance!” He excitedly declared knowing full well I was around the corner in direct ear shot of his dick-headed audacity.

In conclusion of last night’s texting war, it was decided that we would eventually file our taxes as “Married, filing separately.” Fine. With. Me. David continued flinging insulting text messages my way and I could have further engaged him in my equitable defense of his pathetic attempt to get me to exclusively pay for any taxes due but a Mark Twain quote came to mind, “Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.”

Mark Twain Quote