Caught up in the Legal Morass.
I like thinking of The Law as a bog, as swampy ground through which one slogs. Ordinarily I would say there are many things about a swamp that I love, but this one is replete with craggy stumps and sinking subterrain.
Here's something that's been occupying the brain these past two months:
How can a human be a partner in an intimate relationship, with all the reciprocal subtle and affectionate touches and declarations of love and fidelity, and then do a complete 180 in a matter of hours? With no warning? Just a black-and-white flip to the other side: get out, don't want to talk to you, don't want to see you, call my attorney.
As a loving inhabitant of this planet, I've come to the conclusion that this is something I will never understand. I'll get used to the idea of it -- maybe -- and accept that it will remain one of the great conundrums of my life, the puzzle to which I'll never find the missing piece: nine-hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand.
In the meantime, I've plastered myself with "fragile" stickers: one on my brain, the other over my heart. A desperate attempt at protection, in a world made entirely of glass.