Down to One

Well, well, well.

199.75

One hundred ninety-nine and three-quarters of a pound. ONE hundred and change. Okay, a lot of change, but it's still one dollar. One buck, One British-thingy Sterling, one last time I had to slide the big bar on the balance scale to '200', and that was yesterday. Yesterday, I weighed 200 pounds. Today, I do not.

I made it, folks. As of 6 o'clock this morning, I weight 199.75 pounds, down 51.25 pounds from the peak of my being, carrying a scant 80% of my original body weight, and, Ya-Freaking-Hoo, the first digit in my weight is a 1. One! One, the loneliest number, has taken place in the Hundreds spot, and it is a welcomed, wonderful sight. Just look at that sleek, lovely digit. "1" It's so slim, so slender-so sexy. Yeah, sexy. I wish sexy had a 1 in it. In fact, let's fix that. Se1xy. Say it with me. Se1xy. The "1" is silent.

I spent the rest of my morning in a state-mandated class for the Maritally Challenged, proving that one can, in fact, be bored all the way to tears. If I hadn't been so completely fascinated by my discovery, I would have realized at last why divorce embitters the once-idealistic. If you don't hate your spouse going into mediation, you will most assuredly loathe every penny-thieving cell in their putrid body once you finish with DuPage County's "Caring, Coping, and Children: A Divorced Parent's Guide to Transition, Adjustment and Knocking the Crap Out of Each Other Before the Custody Hearing."

And since when is divorce a surprise? This isn't a 6-year old's birthday party here-it's 2 people who once loved each other (theoretically, anyway), and who procreated together, and who, through myriad, complicated reasons, now find it more satisfying to have someone sleep in the bathroom that ever speak to one another again. Yes, people cheat, and yes, sometimes spouses withhold emotions so well that their partner has no idea that everybody's unhappy. But all the way until the shoe drops? Back off the Kool-Aid, folks, and pay attention. This morning's class sounded less like Divorce for Dummies than Cryogenics in Crisis. It was as if 20 people woke up after a decade of sleep, discovered their mates moved out and shacked up with the trophy bride, and wondered how it all happened. I must have heard, "I didn't want this-I still don't," a dozen times.

Okay, maybe you didn't want the divorce. Maybe you think that marriage equals commitment in the form of 'I don't give a rat's ass if I hate you and you hate me back. You're going to stay in this house and I'm going to stay in this house until we're worm food, and if you even think of filing for divorce it'll be over your dead body.' That's absolutely your prerogative. Maybe you really do still love your spouse, even though you can't remember anymore what they look like naked. Maybe so. I'm not in those unions, so I can't say. But....you still don't want it? How is that possible?

I heard things that curled my caustic soul today; things that made my divorce proceedings sound like the Cleaver Honeymoon. Your mate dumped you in front of the kids and now tells your own children that he's going to take them away from you because you're stupid and didn't finish college? Your wife threatens to sell the house and spirit the kids to Arizona every time you ask to keep them an hour later on Sunday? And you still don't want the divorce? I don't get that.

We attended the class at a county building in downtown Wheaton, a location that requires a buzz-in to the offices in a neighborhood where the big 'crime' reported in the papers is someone stealing a recycle trash bin valued at $25. You must show a photo id, be confirmed that you're due to be at that location at that time of that day, and then you must wait for the Rent-A-Cop to look you over before you're buzzed in. Know why? Because this building is a NEST-a Neutral Exchange SiTe.

A NEST is a place where parents who can no longer speak nor even see one another without throwing things, meet, through the county, to exchange custody on weekends. One parent comes in a buzzed door at the front, the other enters through security's check point in the back. One parent kisses a child good-bye and hands him over to a guard, watching the pair disappear behind bullet-proof glass, and then, 15 minutes (no less!) later, the other parent passes the metal detector and gets escorted to their child. Cops are everywhere, cries and shouts tumble over the facilitator's soothing words, and, when we need to use the potty, we have to make sure there's not an exchange in progress. I can't even bring myself to tell you what happens when the receiving parent doesn't arrive. It breaks and offends my parent's heart.

I’m thinking of finding a different Walgreen's so I don't have to drive near that place. Too much bad karma, too much heart break, and too many tears shed in bitterness and rage. Then again, maybe I’ll make a point to drive over there, to remind myself that despite my attorney’s complete incompetence and the array of asininity (that’s my created word: asinine made into a noun) surrounding my journey from Married Woman to Single Mother, that my life is pretty dang good.

And I weigh under 200 pounds today. Every day. Forevermore.

Hug your children tonight. Kiss your mate, even if you don’t feel like it. Make it pleasant all the way, even if it ends in bitterness. Save yourself and your loved ones from the NEST.

A the 1