Life is weird. I know this because I'm a writer and I like to write the weird things down so I remember them. These notes might spark an idea for a story. And the weird things--coincidences, juxtapositions, etc. happen more often than one might think.

I'm living in France for a month and today I began work on a short story called La Voleuse. It's written in English, but set in France and has a French title and a French word employed here and there. I wanted to check the spelling of the word, 'voleuse.' I meant to pick up my French/English dictionary, but I mistakenly picked up my thesaurus instead. An old Valentine's Day card from my husband fell out. Not so weird, but the message on the front of the card was in French. Je t'aime, it said which means, "I love you."

Topiary

I like things tidy. When I lived in a big house with Mr. Ex, I pruned trees and roses, shaped shrubs, and deadheaded anything that bloomed so there were no spent flowers with drooping heads.

A couple of times year I unleashed my inner neatness nazi on Mr. Ex's study. I pawed through piles of papers, stacks of magazines, books and documents rising up from the carpet like stalagmites. I threw away the Burger King receipts and the old church bulletins, organized things that would be needed at tax time and filed away household paperwork. When I found un-cashed checks that were out of date, I made phone calls and got them replaced and later hurried the replacements to the bank.

I'm still working for Mr. Ex.

Here in the tiny village of Auvillar where I'm supposed to be writing a collection of short stories set in France, I'm emailing my attorney and pouring over the details of life insurance policies and investment accounts. Then the attorney and the financial guy email me back with questions and I have to think about how to wield the giant pruning shears that divides joint assets.

I want it to be tidy.

Tragedy

I'm feeling the tragedy of it all. The fallen. The woman beyond grief.

If a marriage has to end, it shouldn't end like this.

I'm in Paris writing my thesis while short stories spin in and out of my head. But there are even more words flying through cyberspace between me and my attorney. Me and Mr. Ex. Me and the sweet financial guy who's helping me understand how to divide what can be divided.

A battle.

Patience

I am not a patient person. I try to be. But then I lose patience with trying. And with the people who try my patience.

Airports inspire me to forsake patience. All those planes roaring upward and people going off to everywhere.

Some travelers buy travel insurance. I send emails. Definitive ones. This is This. That is That.

So this morning at Baltimore Washington International Airport, I emailed Mr. Ex and told him I am rescinding my offer for settlement.

Out of patience.

Maybe a big divorce trial will be fun. Exciting. Exhilarating.