Last week was horrible. No good. Very bad. The divorce that never seems to end took a turn into the ugly over the financials. The community college where I take my algebra class had an Ebola scare, triggering evacuation and that scare rippled across the street to kid #3’s high school. News vans and hysteria prevailed. Voldemort had an at-fault car accident last month and made a claim against the car insurance I pay. While he was at it, he also had the address changed on all our joint accounts so that bills and statements went to him, not me. Guess what bills didn’t get paid as a result?
I had hoped that the craptastic week was behind me and better days were ahead.
Then a pressurized water supply line in #3’s bathroom burst in the middle of the night, spewing water all over the floor and down the wall into the powder room below. Water, water everywhere…no drought in those bathrooms. So it was frantic calls to the plumber, the insurance company, the remediation company.
We’ve got two huge dehumidifiers and three industrial fans running to help dry out. The remediation company ripped out baseboards yesterday and are coming back today to tear out various walls. I’m not even sure which ones or how much ceiling is being demo’ed. The contractor showed up this morning for a preliminary estimate of work, which probably won’t start for at least two weeks, likely three.
While awaiting his arrival, my attorney called in an absolute rage. Voldemort signed the MSA and Mr. Men’s Rights attorney had it notarized.
Except that the MSA wasn’t finalized yet.
There are blank spaces requiring information from Voldemort. There’s at least one paragraph regarding his pension that needs to be deleted. There’s the matter of an up-to-date pay stub from him to confirm the support numbers. All these items were enumerated in the email that accompanied the latest version of the MSA.
Mr. Men’s Rights ignored it all, printed the MSA, and sallied forth. I think he did so because I insisted that he be the attorney to appear in court tomorrow for the mandatory status hearing. I refused to pay another dime for my attorneys to clean up his mess. I’m sure he wants to say his client has signed and I’m holding things up. Well, he pissed my attorney off and may have to deal with her showing up pro bono to smack him down in front of the judge.
It’s a goat rope.
And I have these suspicions about why Voldemort doesn’t hand over the requested information. What’s he hiding? Does he (or his attorney) truly believe that I’ll just shrug my shoulders and sign? The pension information has to be included before the papers can go to the judge for the final decree. No getting around it.
And I won’t sign until he produces a current pay stub. Period. It won’t make a difference in the final numbers, but he hasn’t been at all forthcoming and I’m going to insist he at least be honest about this. I’m sick to death of the half-assed, slapdash nonsense that Mr. Men’s Rights calls professional.
I guess the good news is that the divorce appears to be winding down. I’m tentatively planning to go in to my attorneys’ office next week to sign the MSA and then it will be sent to the judge. No one has any idea how long the final decree will take. Estimates range from a couple weeks to six months. But, I assume, the heavy lifting is over.
And we still have one functional bathroom, so all is not lost.
Hopefully, the rest of the week (…month…year) will be uneventful. Please, please, please.