It’s Thursday evening, which can have different meanings for different people. Some folks feel a buoyancy of spirit due to the fact that tomorrow is Friday. Friday is sacred to the worker of a standard work week. It’s the beginning of the weekend. The symbolically needed excuse to begin to drink, and PAARTY! For years I worked on Saturdays (one of the evils of retail), and so Friday felt like just another work day, or it possibly felt like Thursday. Now for me, Friday means that I will be caring for my son from the end of my shift at the bookstore until sometime Sunday afternoon. This Friday has the added meaning of yet another meeting with a mediator to finish up the paperwork necessary for the divorce. Two weeks ago I was on the eve of another mediation session, and feeling quite verklempt. I took the night off from work and went back to bed. I slowed down my day and started to right myself.
This is my second divorce. The second time around does not make the experience any easier. This current marital struggle has been ongoing, and stressful. The divorce is a sad dénouement to a relationship that always had a strong basis in friendship and trust. It’s just that life got in the way. Priorities got skewed. Of course, there is much more to it than this. There is a child involved, which makes us both want to be extremely mindful and respectful of his interests. There is a good possibility that, once the legal smoke clears, Jen and I will have a better divorce than we did a marriage. Everything changes.
So, the morning mediation is slightly on my mind, but the toughest paperwork has been hammered out. The parenting plan, and property settlement. The rest is just icing on the cake of dissolution. Maybe just a little bittersweet though.
I traded in a box of books today, and received $60 worth of credit, which I immediately used tonight. I have a few new titles sitting in my bin, and I wanted to clear them out. I came away with six new books — actually one was a remainder priced at $3.98 — In the Valley of the Kings by Terence Holt, The Philosophical Baby by Alison Gopnik, Today I Wrote Nothing by Danil Kharms, Jakob von Gunten by Robert Walser, Letty Fox: Her Luck by Christina Stead, and Memories of the Future by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky. The last three titles are published by New York Review of Books, and I collect those editions. There is also some Russian absurdism, philosophy, and a debut collection of Poe-like short stories. I traded in books that I had for years, but hadn’t read. My reading tastes have changed somewhat over the last five years, and I have different interests to occupy my thinking time. Plus, my reading time is so precious these days, that I hate to waste it on bad books.
I got some Funkadelic going on in the background here, so I’m going to close up shop, and let my motor wind down. Peace and love…and Oh! And understanding! Yeah, almost forgot about understanding. What's so funny about those things?