The Buck Stops Here

By my calculations (and mind you, I have had to learn a quite irresponsible way of calculating this scenario) this situation is as precisely screwed up as it is allowed to be.  I walk in with a semi-smug grin upon my face thinking that maybe for once, the truth shall set the situation free.

No dice.

Stupid dice.

Whoever signed me up for this game anyway?

Be that as it may, in the case that one might not be completely accustomed to small claims court - let me shed some light:

They care not so much about the issues that you bring legally, but the best defense offered by a skater-brained dimwit on the opposing side who happens to have the much desired ESQ behind the initials of her name. ESQ mind you, means little more than "extremely & stupidly qualified" to speak...I digress...

I defend me. I do blush a tad and skip a word here and there, but hey! I'm a layman.  Give. Break. Jerk. And besides, Esq didn't defend honestly anyway. She blathered on about inconsequential numbers that she read directly from an order that was A: old, and B: illegitimate (and we're all about illegitimacy here I thought, no?)

In addition, and to be completely fair, one such person in position of judgeship stated that he did not care to (and I paraphrase) "address a situation which was clearly a debacle of mass proportions - ergh, dismissed without prejudice...sorry lady, take it back to the party that has done NOTHING for you for five years and counting. Good day."

I'm striking on the court system!

Join if you feel ye are capable of holding one such sandwich board large enough to discuss such lunatic rantings as I feel the need to rant.

On a sunnier day I might consider this to be part and parcel with the matters of divorce, but at five years - this crap is getting old, and curdling my blood. Besides that, I swear I have a new set of divinely inscribed crow's feet upon my forehead.  (Did I mention "strike"?).

Eh.  I consider this a fallacy and will call this week a "week" to the capacity that my vocabulary allows with children in the room (they don't need to hear my real feelings).  And tomorrow...tomorrow, I will consider myself lucky if I don't rack up a charge or two.

I get it though, I really do.  One court has the extension of their legal arms, criminally speaking - which goes only so far as public housing issues and that of the stereo-typed baby-daddy's crowding Main Street, but C'MON!  You can't exert power as legal ramification upon a man so delusionally human as to help a woman out?!  What happened to the foundation of this place anyway?  They all leave or something?  The only answer that we conjure is to return to a place which has obviously accomplished squat in half a decade that would, might, probably should on a highly-medicated day have me believing that they will do something? 

Malarchy.

[Side note: Lovey, get the bail money ready]

She

She was amazing.

She was innocent and uninhibited. She spanned the time from dawn to dusk; never realizing that it mattered. 
She encompassed the entirety of true, unadulterated love and compassion toward that which brought her happiness.

Her happiness is him. 

He knows that. She reminds him as much as that delicacy allows and pushes the limits of mushy, smushyness that would make grown men bashful and red in the face.  She doesn't care though.

It is important to tell; to talk about and be reminiscent of.  That is what she believes anyway.  She is currently in the process of comparing her romanticism to the novels of Shakespeare and love that cannot be compared to.

Carrying on with the wings of a cupid (minus the semi-nakedness).

Ahhhh, love.

It Was Not Plainly Clear

Of course, it often isn't plainly clear. Moreso, it comes across as paralleling a bad night in Mexico with some persons that are not. so. trusty.

I happened on the scene with a lofty head filled with idealism and a mouth wrought for writing...or speaking. Wrought for speaking; wait, no writing.  At least that is what I had been told by persons not so wrought.  Personally, I didn't see it.  It was a combination of being blinded by the light (as my buddy Bruce dost protest) and a labor of love that would, might, possibly, eventually enable me a better person capable of transient work and bestowed efforts of the family context that I so desired. 

I was hopeful.

Hopeful bites sometimes.  A lot of sometimes, sometimes.

The point was to gain enough experience as a person, an advocate, a mother, speaker-of-truth, and outright human being, that I would gain enough strength points to move to the next level.  Truth be told, I often used cheat codes and moved along passively because I thought I'd mastered the lamest of elements only to find that I was the lamest and would be moving back several spaces until I conceded to run due course. Phewy.

A side note of suggestion offers that I have mentally compiled a resolution list of ideas toward my next role: Awesomeness.  I have a book-signing (equipped with author-signed pages of my first and best-selling novel; currently untitled and missing each page beyond that there signed page), a children's book of characters who parallel the life and times of me and my son (and Lovey -- Lovey's always there!), and the perfect act and wording for when I am let go due to budget constraints.  Seems profitable, right?

Ought to.

This has taken me a lot of years to compile.


Where to now?  That is the point at which I currently reside.  It is either continue down the road of least-resistance/no achievement and no forward-movement for the sake of being "easy" -- OR a big, fat: double-barrel bustin' truth on the situation, eat-my-grits, bite my dust and go big, or go home kind of circumstance.

Big, fat?

Yeah. I'm leaning in that general direction too.

I find a large issue with the legal society that happens to run, organize and fund much of society. WHEN the heck did that happen?!?!  And why wasn't I invited? Doesn't seem right. Isn't right.

But...

I have had this pot on the stove for far too long, finally turned the heat up and have a reduction of fine, unadulterated comprehension that will pair nicely with a baguette and the "No BS clause" that I put at the opposite end of that book-signing deal where all I have is a cover page. ( I guess that isn't entirely true -- I have the No BS clause as well).

Put My Finger On It

Dear Lacking Self-Esteem and Void of Security,

You bring me nothing but problems.

I'm leaving you.

Don't call,
The Biebs