LETTERS FROM THE OPPOSING ATTORNEY

It is a lovely Sunday afternoon, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and...oh heck.  Guys, I have a problem. 

I've had a problem for a week now.  I'll tell you what it is.  I have two letters sitting on my desk from the opposing attorney in my case. 

Let me take a look at them.  Oh, they are thick.  What do you think?  Should I open them and ruin my lovely day?

That's the question. 

As soon as I open these two letters and read the contents I will be pissed off. Why?  Because I am always pissed off at what the opposing attorney has to say.  That's why.  Remember how your Mom told you, "If you don't have anything good to say, don't say it at all."  Well, the opposing attorney wasn't there for that lesson. 

So there I'll be having a nice day, similar to the one I've described in my opening line and then I will receive one of those darned letters from the opposing attorney and my day is ruined, sometimes not even my one day but several days.  Not only is my day ruined but my relationships with others also, my ability to think straight, literally everything.  That is how bad it is. 

Ok people.  I'm touching these two envelopes, two fat plump envelopes that sink into my fingertips.  What do you say?  Should I just get it over with, or just wait another day and at least have today to enjoy.  I'm just not sure. 

Earlier in the week I didn't open the letters because I had a few legal papers I needed to get submitted to court and I wanted to be able to get them done without interference.  That was my excuse for not opening these letters.  Now the legal work is done I don't have any more excuses, but still I haven't opened them.

Do I need to be pissed off?  Do I need to be annoyed? Wouldn't I prefer to play yahtzee with my daughter?  Yes, actually, yes, is actually the answer to that question. 

Now, you, gentle readers, must now be thinking to yourselves, does she do this EVERY TIME a letter comes in from the opposing attorney.  Yes, actually, again, yes, is actually the answer to that question. 

I walk around with letters from the opposing attorney unopened; I stick them on kitchen counters, and next to bathroom sinks.  I bring them into the bathroom with me and turn them over while I'm on the toilet.  I put them inbetween the pages of my notebooks, I stuff them down my pants and throw my shirt over them to prevent my partner from seeing them.  I dump them on the floor of my car.  I blank out about them, forget they exist and leave them on the garage stairs.  You mention it, I've done it to those letters. 

Why?  Because they are nothing but trouble.  Years ago, when my divorce was new, and I still had a few remaining drops of adrenaline in my body, I would get churning feelings in my stomach at the sight of these letters.  The veins on my forehead would throb and my teeth would clench. I would even open the letters quickly because I was so angry about the situation, I wanted to respond right away with a volley of letters all my own. 

Now I'm like, nope, I'm fine, thank you very much.  You can just stay there right where you are on my dresser underneath the bottles of perfume.  My body feels dead, silent, disinterested, indifferent. 

Still, not opening the letters is a torture unto itself.  Everywhere I go I have this naggy feeling of incompleteness in my head, the needling irritation that arises from a task left undone that must inevitably be done.  People who work with me on the case, who have learned to keep their mouths shut about my irrational letter related behavior, still have the courage to shoot me meaningful looks and raise their eyebrows in the direction of my office and deny they have done so when I call them on it. 

Of course, there are deadlines, and I only have so much time to respond to the opposing attorney.  So, I do have to open the letters some time.  But when. When?  That is the question.  The tearing sound of paper, the rip, rip, rip.  Oh, it's awful.  I can't bear it.  I'm not going to do it.  Not now.  Of course, there are risks to this kind of constant evasiveness, like opening the letters and realizing I had to respond to them yesterday and the opportunity has been lost.  Yes, the deadlines, the deadlines, which I just mentioned.  They don't go away no matter how much you wish them away. 

I look outside my window.  The sun is shining.  The neighbor's poodle is chasing falling leaves around the driveway.  How I wish I were the poodle and not this person that I am, the person who has to open these two envelopes. 

Maybe I should just put them down for now, take a walk, breath deeply, put the evil moment off, for just this minute, this hour, whatever it takes to make me strong enough.  But I will never be strong enough.  Ultimately, I just have to do what I am able to do, the very best that I can.  And that is all anyone can ask of me. 

And I keep in mind that things do get better.  I used to be so terrified of the opposing attorney I couldn't even speak to him or call his secretary on the phone.  Now if I have something to say, I just speak up or get on the phone.  There comes a point where you just don't care any more. 

In the end, nothing, nothing is as horrifying and as intimidating as the opposing attorney in a high conflict divorce, particularly when you are on the losing side.  But once you get over that fear, nothing will ever frighten you again.  And there is something very liberating, very freeing, about that. 

So now, here I go. I have one of the letters in my hand and its time to follow through.  Wish me luck. And I wish you luck when you open your letters.  Go get the bastards!