Call off the lawyers, feed me wine through a drip......

Well, maybe not a drip. Just a large curly straw.

Sam and I are nearing the final stages of total separation. You'd think with two puppies whose custody has long been sorted, a couple of shelves of books and CD's, a few pictures, none of which really qualify as 'art' and a tiny house the size of a bedsit, this would be a fairly simple process.
Naturally, you'd be wrong.

The physical incarnations of my life shared with her are gathering damp in a garage in Sydney. The emotional ramifications of our failed relationship are being lived out, through the wrangling over a barely valuable piece of real estate.

I remember my mum. I was proud of how she handled herself when she divorced. Head high, dignity in tact, 'offer it or keep it' her style.

Sam and I have, sadly, fallen short of that. The gentle parting has led, as is so often the case others tell me, to acrimony in the financial stages.

I spent today in a fit of feeble concentration as the latest round of emails were fired to and fro.
I found myself close to tears at my desk, on the tube, past close behind closed doors.

We've been counting our contribution. Then I realised, if there were things I could go back for, the odd wad of cash splashed or some shared momento would not be on my list.

I'd take the soaring self esteem I had when I met her. I'd take the conviction I was a woman worth loving.

I'd take the laughter that saw us far beyond giggling. I'd have the feelings I had on a sofa in a flat overlooking the ocean, the night before Mardi Gras. When I was utterly certain she wasn't just the woman I wanted to marry, but the woman I would marry, would be with past my teeth falling out. I'd have the companionship that saw us working as a team in the kitchen. Me creating, mess as momentous as the flamboyant dishes I stacked up in the fridge, awaiting guests. Her clearing space for me to work, seeing how much many mouthfuls she could slip in unnoticed, selecting the perfect music to accompany each course. I'd have the moaning as I marched her miles along cliff tops, and the agreement that 'yes, actually,' she did want to continue when challenged. I'd take the cups of teas offered, teased, tricked and charmed from each other. I'd have the threat free silence that saw us sprawled in the sun, broken only to say 'you must read...' before exchanging the sections of the weekend papers.

I'd take the friendship, hard won, dearly cherished.

Maybe I'm paying the price for my early proclamations that I'd stumbled, albeit inadvertently, upon the formula for the perfect break up.

I'd like to think not.

I'd like to think that by next week these feelings will be put in a box labeled 'melodramatic blip'.

I'm scared that if we don't find a different way to do things, quickly, the damage will be done.

If I'm not out the other side by this time next week, please, someone.......

Call off the lawyers, pass me that straw.