Although it is obvious this is not a friendly divorce, the judge is too busy to hear our case. Busy, too, is the associate judge. A full docket, or merely a case of wise judicial discretion? I must acknowledge that, given the opportunity, I would probably transport myself to an alternate universe, rather than immerse myself in the proceedings before me, so I can’t in good conscience berate the judges for “leaving the building.” In the absence of a “real” judge, we get one of those “judges-in-waiting,’” one of the many lawyers who wander around the courthouse, looking for work to be assigned. The judge-lite who was ultimately fortunate enough to get our case might not be a total dumbass, but at the same time it is quite obvious to me that he is not ready for prime time on the bench, nor is it likely that he will ever be in this lifetime.
We begin this latest hearing in a private room. Lucille’s infamous attorney Lazlo is in rare form, calling me a liar in an apparent effort to get a rise out of me. The only decision we are trying to reach today is where Carter should be living during the course of the divorce. Of course Lazlo’s only concern is how much money I have and how I can support Carter when Lucille gets custody, which for some reason he assumes is going to happen. After a couple hours of bickering, I do reach the breaking point, but my only break is that I begin actually addressing Lucille’s attorney as Lazlo. Lazlo is not pleased, and in fact when I first say, “Why don’t you just shut your cakehole, Lazlo,” he actually takes off his glasses and throws them on the table at me. I start to smash them with my hands, but think better of it, and just pick them up and throw them back at him instead. What an asshole. He doesn’t realize that from this point forward, and possibly for the rest of his life, I will be haunting him and waiting for him to screw up enough that I can have him disbarred, castrated, or sent immediately to purgatory. I really don’t care which. Suffice it to say that the Texas Bar Association knows who I am.
Finally, the hearing is moved into the big courtroom, since there are apparently big issues to be resolved. One of the major issues at this time will be the assignment of financial responsibilities. Since Lucille is not working, the judge orders me to give her $2,000 a month for three months. According to the judge, this will allow her time to get a job and pay her own bills. I really can’t complain about this, as she is asking for $10,000 per month. When I produce records showing that she has twice drained our joint checking account – to the tune of $25,000 in the last six weeks, spending the money on furniture, statuary, clothes, and acquiring cash – the judge allows her only the $2,000, and further states that this will be the last financial assistance she will receive from me during the divorce proceedings.
Unbeknownst to all of us at the time, the judge’s ruling will allow Lucille to maintain very liquid assets, not to mention that Clyde, too, will benefit. It is ruled that Lucille be kept on my company medical insurance policy for the duration of the divorce. As she is a criminally convicted physician assistant, this is money in the bank for Lucille. According to records from my insurance company, she is acquiring hundreds of painkillers, muscle relaxers, anti-depressants, and anxiety medications on a monthly basis. This provides her with an endless supply of drugs for her own purposes of getting high, as well as an ample supply to sell on the street for cash.
But at least I am, in theory anyway, making progress in my escape from this disastrous entanglement.
But the fight has really only just begun.