I'll just say that being an artist, cobbling together an income from (lack of)sales, and from (not)teaching in the California community college system, along with getting divorced during an economic recession, is not for the faint of heart. No siree Bob. Nor would I recommend a trip to the lawyer during the holiday season. What a downer. The whole thing really sucks. It doesn't help knowing I have two years to stay in this house before we have to sell it based on the other party's desire to sell- the other party, being my stbx and not much of a party, I might add- and that I need to move along. Nor did it help when my lawyer told me maybe I could find a cheap space in Chinatown, though it might not be the best neighborhood. Gotta fuckin love that advice. I'm surfuckinprised she didn't tell me where I could find a sale on cat food.
Moving along to the second part of my badass day, I would always suggest to go with your first instinct. I'm saying that in public, because tonight, in a totally unrelated event, I tried to be open and egoless to something that was in direct conflict to my gut instinct. It's all rather ridiculous to get my knickers in a knot about, but upon closer inspection the whole shenanigan doesn't bode well for me. The good news is that I've changed my mind about something and having made that decision, I anticipate sleeping better tonight. My ego will thank me and I can get on with business.
Alas, the day was not a total loss. The mail brought a delightful surprise. Fang collects art now, starting with a print by Sharon Butler. We're both pleased. Thank God for the mail. And for bonus points, I dislodged the seatbelt my dear friend, Meg accidentally shut the car door on- without breaking the door handle off, saving myself a trip to the bloody body shop. woo-hoo.
