I have a court date scheduled with Levi for October 23rd. He still hasn't paid a dime of child support and I, sick of draining my bank account down to pennies every day, am sick of putting up with his bullshit.

I am exhausted. This whole ordeal is so freaking exhausting. I never realized how worn out your emotions can make you. Getting a divorce is like running a million marathons.

I tried everything. I tried to go it alone. I've tried to pay for everything by myself. I've tried having four or five jobs at one time  I've tried to reason with him. I've tried to negotiate with him — always reiterating, "I'm not asking for a whole lot, I'm not asking to get rich, I just need some help." 

Every single time I've tried, I've either been met with lies, empty promises, or absolute hostility.

It's weird though, I'm not even angry anymore. I'm just...tired. I want peace in my life. I want happiness. I want my son to have a peaceful, happy, wonderful life. I need to be able to provide that for him.

I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong. Why is it so impossible for me to communicate this effectively to Levi — effectively enough so that he'll listen? Effectively enough so that he'll step up and do SOMETHING.

This doesn't feel right, either. It doesn't feel right to drag the man — a man that I once loved so much — into court and call him a deadbeat.

I realize now why I've been avoiding this moment for so long — filing papers, and then retracting them — it's painful. This hurts. This back and forth bickering. This sitting back and watching Levi not only abandon but totally neglect our son. This really hurts. I only wish there was another way. 

Today, I have decided, is the day. I will go downtown, find the courthouse, find a clerk, and start the legal process of divorcing Edgar.

"So you're sad about filing your divorce papers?" asked my roommate, who's been divorced twice.

"I don't know," I replied.

Yeah, I guess I am sad. It's not every day that one places in the public record the fact that one's primary relationship is an abysmal failure. And I guess I'm scared. My health insurance issue remains unresolved, and what if my alcoholic husband goes completely off after getting the news and does... God knows what?

"Remember not to let someone control you with fear," says the Good Doctor. Good advice.

I wonder if there's some protocol for this. When I got married at the courthouse, I had friends and family with me. Today I think I will go alone.

Then, I was careful to wear something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. (Fat lot of good that did, huh?) Today I think it would be smart to wear comfortable shoes.

On my wedding day, my mother carried tissues and used them. I guess I didn't have sense enough to cry then, but today I will bring along something to wipe my eyes and nose with — just in case.

I knew what to do and where to go after my wedding ceremony. Today, the only thing I'm sure of is that what happens afterward mustn't involve alcohol, however tempting the idea might be.

What's the use in setting myself free from a bad marriage to make myself a slave to the drink once more?

For self-protection, I should have a plan. Let's see... I think I'll plan to take my dogs for a good long walk, then have a good long soak. Uplifting, relaxing, and calorie-free!

First, though, I must gather my papers, put on my comfortable shoes, and head downtown. I feel like I'm having an out of body experience, but I also feel sure that I can do this.

When what I believe to be the final divorce papers arrived for my signature this summer, I didn't feel exaltation.

I thought, when this happened, that it would be an occasion of skipping-and-hopping-delight — something like what it was like to finally get Jake's name off the bank account, only exponentially more so. Instead, I was kind of miserable.

Since I am in this new relationship — this relationship that's turning out to really mean something — I thought putting this final, legal closure on things would mean an extra little boost of freedom and happiness and celebration. Instead, it just felt like failure.

I know, in that logical part of myself, that I didn't fail, that it is not my fault, that this doesn't necessarily mean that I am incapable of making a relationship work, that this doesn't mean all relationships are inevitably doomed, but something about holding those papers in my hands sure makes it feel that way.

It's hard not to take this ending and feel that it might mean everything: That nothing will ever work out. That there is no such thing as real compatibility. That there is no such thing as forever. That I won't ever get more than a couple of years. That what I have now — this wonderful and perfect thing — will also drift into pieces until it becomes merely stilted conversation and paperwork.

I had thought, had hoped, signing these final papers would be liberating. That it would be exciting. That I would be joyful. But it's just sad, and I am just unhappy. 

A year ago when Sam and I began round three of counseling, our therapist recommended we draw up a contract, a kind of pre re-nup agreement, spelling out our needs and expectations.

Said it's a way to protect yourself — not your finances — the self that is YOU from being swallowed whole by enormity of committing to forever as part of a pair. Fear of losing myself in this, or any other, relationship ever again is huge for me.

She said it could be a detailed as, "If I want to go traveling in Asia alone for two years, it will be alright with you."

I never drafted it. Truth is, back when she was giving that advice I still thought I was in counseling to end my marriage, not to consider how best rebuild it.

What a difference a year makes. Closing in on this reunification, here's the rough draft of my Soul Protection Contract:

-I will always have a room within our house that is mine alone to work, think, be, and sometimes sleep in. It will have a locking door.

-We will have each have one "off duty" weekend every month with no responsibility for parenting, housekeeping, or partnering.

-We will have one free day (or night) every week.

-If someone does not use his/her time, that decision does not affect the other's right to do so without guilt.

-If I have the opportunity to travel for work to a place you would like to go, but can't because of your own work, this will be okay with you.

-When I need space for friends or I need to spend nights-on-end holed up in my room to write and think, and I emerge only help with the kids, this will also be okay.

-We will maintain separate banks accounts in addition to our household account.

-If you want to take an extended road trip with the girls during your summer break (Sam is on a school calendar) and I cannot go because of work, this will be okay with me (and with you.)

Maybe this is the real reason I still haven’t filed for divorce: I just don’t feel like it. It’s probably that lazy gene Jill Brooke wrote about.

For a while there I thought, feared, that Ed’s absence was making my heart grow fonder. But as I listened to myself explaining my delay to my (happily married) friend Melody, I thought: What am I, crazy?

OK, the Ed who never minded interrupting road trips to stop at outlet stores, the one who cooked dinner, the one who rescued animals in distress, he was great. And I guess I can admit missing him.

Unfortunately, he shares a body with that other damned Edgar.

The one who spent the mortgage money on a boat.

The one who didn’t quite understand the difference between a wife and a secretary.

The passed-out-on-the-floor-drunk one I rousted to go with me to the hospital when I thought I was having a heart attack. (Big mistake: I should have gone alone.)

These past few months, my estranged husband really hasn’t been any trouble. And I’d like to keep it that way. I expect, though, that filing those divorce papers will change that.

While whining to myself about how I don’t wanna do it, I had a great idea.

There should be a sunset provision for marriages.

Nolo.com defines a sunset law as one “that automatically terminates the agency or program it establishes unless it is expressly renewed.”

I propose that marriages sink below the horizon after seven years, unless the parties take action to continue them.

I mean, you have to renew your driver’s license every now and then -- less often than you must register your car or dog.

Getting a settlement is handy. Since Jake owns a company, since the company is lucrative, since we were married for 10 years, and since he's not an asshole, mine is a decent one. More than decent, really. Because giving me what we determined is "my share" all at once would effectively close his company down, our arrangement is spread over the next five years.

This means that I can afford to stay in San Francisco. This means that I have some money to invest against the day the payments stop. This means I don't have to panic about money for the next little bit.

This also means that he and I are tied for the next five years.

I didn't want any money from him when we split. It felt wrong, somehow. It felt icky. I didn't want the tie. I'm rational enough to take it, but we're still in a relationship this way. This necessitates communication. There's a monthly reminder. It's a connection I don't like having.

Sometimes I wonder if the complete and absolute freedom would be worth it. But this money means that I am having a far, far, far easier time of it than other women in the same situation. With all I have to worry about, paying my bills is not, for the moment, one of them. So I feel enormously guilty for the bad feelings I have.

How do I not feel guilty for resenting this? How do I accept this help while hating the ties it makes and keeps?

I have trouble understanding how the law and relationships mix. In Quebec (my home province), couples form and dissolve, most often without a marriage to seal the deal. Common-law relationships are the way to go in La Belle Province.

I asked a friend of mine from Nevada about her divorce. "You have to go to court and the judge tells you whether you can divorce or not."

Wait a second. A judge, someone who has no idea who you are, what your troubles are or who your partner is, decides whether you have to continue a marriage you don't want to? This makes no sense to me.

Dividing assets, I understand. Someone has to decide who gets the car or the kitchen table, and it's tough to make decisions like that when you're angry.

Child custody, I get. It's important that children stay where they want to and where they need to be with a person that can take care of them properly. And in separations, kids are often jammed in the middle between two parents who fight over custody like vicious dogs.

But some person who doesn't know you should have no right to decide who you have to live with and be joined to. The law and relationships don't mix.

A judge isn't going to be able to make your partner be nicer to you. A court of law can't make you feel whole or repair hurt feelings. It makes no sense to force a person who doesn't want to be with someone else to continue a farce.

I have no idea if the law in Quebec says the same — that a judge must approve the breakup. Perhaps that's the rule, and if so, it's no wonder why people simply don't get married. You can't force love. Paper doesn't make it happen.

If you want out, you should have the right to get out. Period. And if you want someone to stay, and they don't want to, then you have no right to force them to remain in a place they don't want to be.

I have been holding back on showing everyone this, mostly because I used to be so thoroughly disgusted and humiliated by it. But today, I looked at it, and actually laughed.

That's when I decided to share it. I mean, who here doesn't need a good laugh, right? Here are the highlights:

He created this in October of 2006. I gave birth to our son in December of 2006. Nice guy, huh?

Okay, on with the laughs. For starters, I can't help but find it utterly hysterical, and somewhat pathetic that he chose the name Sexybeast0007. He could have done without the sexy, I will agree with him on the beast part, though. Next, he claims to be 39, yet he was 41 at the time; but then under the question "The best or worst lie I've ever told" he writes: I never lie.

Laugh on.

The fact that he says that he's single, and has brown hair, is notable, too, especially since he's bald — totally bald. Maybe his hair used to be brown? I guess that's up to his "lucky lady" to figure out.

The fact that he fails to mention that he has two children is disgusting.

Under "Why you should get to know me," you will truly understand, once and for all, what a narcissist this man is. In a paragraph of 30 words or less, I think he calls himself sexy and successful at least three times.

If after you've read all of this, and you've decided you have to date him, but you're upset because he calls himself "picky but worth it," have no fear: it appears that he doesn't have any real requirements for a woman...she just has to be between 22 and 35.

What a loser.

I'm bringing this to court with me. (I have the old version, where his picture was still up.) Mostly to prove that he considers himself to be a successful music and film agent, but also because he admits to using recreational drugs.

Yup, sometimes Levi is a giant moron. Laugh on.

That seems to be what it's going to be for awhile. It sucks, to go to bat with someone who knows you so well. Someone you've shared your deepest self with, someone who really knows how to push your buttons.

Levi knows me better than most people know me. He knows how I feel about arguments, knows that usually I will avoid them at all costs. I'm the kind of person who can't deal with yelling. I don't know why, but whenever someone starts to raise their voice to me, I just shut down. I can't comprehend what they're saying; it's like I go into "safe" mode. Yelling scares me, so I try to avoid it. Which is why, I think, he's doing so much of it lately.

He also knows how much I love my son. My son, I've said, "is my heart walking around outside of my body." He knows that his threats of taking him away from me, stealing him away from me, are crushing to me.

He also knows that I am inherently a good person (why not toot my own horn here?) and will generally forgive quite easily. I honestly think that it's this knowledge that makes him feel so free to be so selfish. The knowledge that one day, I will probably forgive him, and then he gets what he wants. Levi is the kind of guy that always has his cake and eats it too.

He left me a message earlier. Today's threat was this: "If you continue to take me to court, and I'm ordered to pay, that's all I'll ever do. I'll only pay. I'll never have anything to do with him, EVER."

He's said this before, and it used to really upset me. It doesn't anymore. I've come to the conclusion that his relationship, or lack thereof, with Adrian, is up to him. It's not on me to facilitate that. Do you think I'm right?