Moving On

The move is done. Tav and I are settled into my guardian angel's basement. Now comes the fun part - the D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

Having been through this before, I have an idea of the drill. In fact, I have the papers all filled out on my computer - just need to print and walk myself up to the courthouse, which is exactly 1 block from my office. Then Mr. Psycho gets served and we are off to the races.

He actually drove 20 miles yesterday to dump his dog in my parents' yard. So, today, I'm sending little Tasha (I use the term "little" broadly) off to a rescue shelter, where she will live in harmony with other divorce dogs. My own dog has a new home already, at my best friend's house. That's what RESPONSIBLE people do. But you, my dear readers, are the creme de la creme, and so of course you know what responsible people do.

The bright side to Mr. Psycho's little adventure is that he killed any remnants of affection that my youngest son may have still harbored in his 11-year old heart. I think that Tav is holding up exceptionally well. He only made one comment, when we first got here and we hadn't hacked into our landlord's wireless connection yet - "Great, I have no dad and no internet." Well, guess what. Laptops are like the ring in the Lord of the Rings series, they WANT to find a wireless connection and seek them out with all their cyber ability. That problem resolved quickly enough. Then the "dog episode" happened, and now my 11-year old thinks that his stepfather is a complete jerk.

Mission accomplished.

Moving on - because my life is not just my shattered marriage, now is it? - our final feature film debuts in a little less than 2 weeks. I am bummed that it's rated R - did I already mention that, don't recall - because Tav can't go. But mommy is happy at the prospect of a comedy on the horizon.