Yesterday was HUGE wasn’t it? Tom Hanks announced that he and his wife Rita Wilson announced they have the coronavirus and have been hospitalized on the Gold Coast, Donald Trump banned travel between the US and Europe, the International Jump Rope Union cancelled the World Skipping Championships … I started to wonder is this how the world ends, not with a bang but a sniffle?
Oh, and my husband texted me to ask for a divorce.
Blimey, you could have knocked me down four times with a feather.
Amid the drama, I forgot all about how tired and sore I was from standing in sandals on a concrete floor for hours watching New Order, then not getting to sleep until 1am.
I have no idea what I’m going to do about the expensive air tickets that I’ve purchased, but the divorce is a doddle.
My husband left me six years ago and I’ve served him with divorce papers twice over the years. Despite numerous nudges, he let them lapse both times.
Even me saying I didn’t think I should be the one deciding to turn his life support off didn’t spur him into action.
Maybe the coronavirus has made him more aware of his own mortality? Maybe his girlfriend wants to put a ring on it? Maybe the youngest has been giving him a hard time about it?
Maybe it’s all three. I dunno, I decided not to ask.
He said he was worried it would be difficult. We tried to formalise our informal financial settlement a few years ago and the courts knocked our DYI application back.
I refrained from typing pithy remarks back to him. There was nothing to be gained by smart-arsed snipes. So I just told him it would be easy peasy.
“It’s a formality – it would be cut and dried for $950,” I said.
I can’t think a court will have the slightest problem stamping the divorce papers, since my ex signed the lease on his bachelor pad on Valentine’s Day 2014 and hasn’t looked back.
Anyways, now the papers need to be filled out again and witnessed by a JP for the third time, then electronically filed and voila, I’ll officially be a divorcee!
How huge is that?
Except it doesn’t feel huge, because I don’t think of myself as being married any more. We have moved too far on.
Dealing with the cancelled World Skipping Championships feels much bigger.
I’ve been sorting out old photographs in the garage and stumbling across lots of wedding ones and I don’t feel sad when I look at them. It’s another lifetime and another me.
The kids haven’t been the slightest bothered by seeing them either, they’re mildly curious and that’s about it.
The thought of being officially released from my marriage is actually kind of exciting.
Still being married after all this time feels more weird than it would to get a divorce.
He just has to sign the papers this time.
Song of the day: Billy Idol “White wedding”