Okay, I've got a new house for the animal family and me. Now: What to do with the old one? The plan is to ready it for sale or rent. I've talked with a couple of friends to see if they might want to buy it or maybe even rent it at a reduced rate just to keep it from standing empty.

And, my soon-to-be-ex Edgar has volunteered to rent it.

Edgar tells me I have to hang onto it. "That house is the only thing you have." Well, sort of.

I like to think of things like friends and family, years of experience in the kind of work I love, even my books and music as things I "have." But he's right. The old homestead is certainly my biggest material asset, even though its value has been dropping like a stone.

"This isn't the time to be selling your house," he told me.

I didn't buy the house as an investment, per se. I bought it 11 years ago because I'd always wanted a house, and needed a nice, quiet place to keep myself and my stuff. I kept it even when strangers approached me in the yard during the real estate boom and offered me several times what I paid. 

But they were offering only money. This is my home.

And though it is worth much, much less than it has been, I should still make a profit if I'm able to sell the place.

But that's a big If. I'd love to be able to rent it to Edgar and keep it. He does have a stable job, he knows the house's idiosyncrasies and might take better care of it than I have.

However, I also remember worrying, when he lived here, that he might set the place on fire during a drunken episode.

Typically, Ed is presenting himself as the solution to my problems, even though he says he can't afford the full mortgage payment. I'd have to pick up the shortfall. "But if you'd be willing to lose your house over a couple of hundred dollars a month," he said, "that's just stupid."

OK, I give up. I surrender, I confess, I admit it: I cannot afford my home anymore. By my home I mean both my house and the crazy city that I love, where I've lived for the past 20 years — longer than I've lived anywhere else, nearly half of my life.

I went "back home" to North Carolina last week, to attend my 30th high school reunion (!) and spend a week with my parents. I ended up using a lot of that time looking for a place to move my remaining family, the three dogs and three cats.

And I found something, a tiny little house in a great, big fenced yard. The rent is just over half of what I'm now struggling to pay for my mortgage.

For years I'd been scrambling for work, and just getting by, with the inconsistent assistance of Ed. It occurred to me, as I gazed at the satellite image of Hurricane Ike covering the entire Gulf of Mexico, that homeowners insurance — already prohibitively expensive - will never get any cheaper in Florida.  

My beautiful house, the cherished fulfillment of a long-held dream, needs work that I can't afford. Relatively speaking, it's a wealthy person's home. 

Relatively speaking, I am not a wealthy person.

Also, my parents also are not getting any younger. I'll feel better being closer to them — though I will decline, at least for now, their generous offer to let me live in their basement for a modest rent. I would not feel better being that close.

Speaking of which, I'm not opposed to putting several hundred miles between myself and my soon-to-be-ex-husband.

I don't want to move, I don't want to leave, but I can't afford this life any more.

I give up. That much is certain. Now all I have to do is work out the details. 

"Why is it," my mother asked, "that you can get married for $10 or $15 but it costs so much more to get un-married?"

"Because they know how badly you want it," I replied, and we shared a laugh.

Apparently, I want out of my dead marriage badly enough to actually do something about it. Nothing momentous, but this is where momentous begins. I marched myself up to the Self-Help Center at a civil courthouse and secured the packet of forms I need for my simple Florida divorce from Edgar. 

"Simple" being a term of art, of course.

The packet cost $65. Filing for dissolution will be another $409. In this county it actually costs $93.50 for a marriage license, a mere $61 if you complete the premarital preparation course.

I think that's a good investment. I've often wondered if premarital counseling would have prevented the train wreck that my marriage to Ed became.

Anyway, a clerk asked a couple of questions ("Do you have children with him? Do you own property with him?") and ultimately gave me what I asked for, a manila envelope containing 18 printed sheets. I actually only have to do something with 11 of them; the rest are instructions and receipts.

Unfortunately, one of the tasks I must complete is getting my husband served. I know where he works and could deliver his papers by hand myself, but it seems I still have to have his new address.

So far he's declined to give it to me.

Once I get that straightened out, it looks like I'll have to go to the courthouse twice more: once to go over the documents at the Self-Help Center and have them stamped by the clerk, and once for a Final Hearing.

The forms say they'll mail me notice of that date "in about four to eight weeks."

Okay, I've got the papers. However, I've already headed off to see my parents for a week. So I won't be filing anything until I return.

It’s been a year now since I determined I could not go on living with my husband, Ed. While he was the first one to bring up the D-word, he is also the one who does not want to get divorced.

Once I finally got him out of the house (my house, thank you very much; I bought it a few years before we married), I devoted myself to scrambling for money to keep body, soul, and animal family together.

I soon realized that divorce, with its lawyers and fees, was a luxury. And Ed, never a financial genius, said he didn’t have the funds either.

He did email me a proposed settlement agreement; I think he found a template on the Internet.

We have no kids and my lawyer tells me our pets are considered chattel (I’m sorry; anybody who looks to me for food and shelter and doesn’t work is a dependent).

I wasn’t seeking alimony and he wasn’t planning to battle over the house. Still, like any good divorcing couple, we managed to oppose each other.

I wanted to keep the health insurance he got through work, at least for a while; he would not sign a quitclaim deed formally relinquishing any interest in the house, until the divorce was final.

I was more concerned about the health insurance. I could keep that by just keeping quiet, so I did.

But after I tapped my retirement account to cover all the things I hadn’t earned earning enough to handle, I remembered that I’d also meant to get divorced.

I got out of bed in the middle of the night and emailed Ed, asking how he thought we should go forward.

Then it was his turn to keep quiet.

Weeks passed without a word from him.

I felt I’d done my part for the present, but my therapist thought I was procrastinating.

Imagine.

I said I’d get in touch with Ed, ask what he wanted to do. “Why are you giving this back to him?!” she demanded.

I thought about it briefly before replying.

“Habit.”

Money, the image that money brings, meant a lot to Jake. I couldn't get a bookshelf or a pair of shoes without checking in first - I would have gotten a look, a comment, a day of silence. A plane ticket to see a friend for the weekend, that was out of the question. We didn't have the money to spend it recklessly.

The thing was, we did have the money. And when Jake wanted something, he would get it. He was an impulse furniture buyer. He bought a $300 humidor on whim.

He thought that, because he made more than I did, financial decisions should be his. He was uncomfortable with feeling this way, he tried to pretend he didn't, but he did.

I have mixed feelings about money. If there's not a cushion in my bank account, I get nervous. My cat might need surgery again. My car might fall apart. I want to be prepared. And, for the most part, I don't spend a lot. I don't like shopping. I don't have expensive taste in anything.

But I want to see my friends, and I'm willing to throw down for a plane ticket to do so. If I have the freedom and ability to travel, I want to do so — I might not be able to later. If that means carrying some debt around for a couple of months, so be it. I don't want to be irresponsible, but I also don't want to give everything up. So I try to balance.

I definitely have less money now that I'm divorcing. I have to watch things, especially since I have to guard against the day my settlement payments stop. But I love that I can take a class if I want to and not have to justify it to anyone. I can go on vacation. I can get a bookshelf.

I used to wonder about couples that had been together for years but still kept separate bank accounts. Now, I see the appeal. I don't know how willing I'd be to get back into shared finances. This way, I know exactly where everything is, and my choices about what to do with what I have are mine alone.

As if I didn't have enough going on already, I decided to add more to my plate. Something major.

I've decided to go to school. I've wanted to learn cinematography and film production for quite some time, and now I'm finally going to do it.

I stumbled across the program a few months ago while doing some research on the Internet. Of course, like anything of its kind, it's pretty expensive. However, they had some information on the site pertaining to grants and other sources of financial aid so I decided to go for it, and I applied.

It was a daunting application complete with questions like "Why should we give this money to you?" and "Explain your commitment and desire to be in the film program." The last question was an essay. I did the best that I could — it took me all day — and sent it on it's way. I didn't get my hopes up, though.

So I was shocked when I received the letter that I had been selected for not one, but two grants. They cover the cost of attendance and then some. I'm also taking out a few student loans so that I can spend more time focusing on this.

I enrolled in the accelerated summer program, so that I can start earlier, cram a bunch in, therefore finishing quicker. I always have enjoyed moving fast.

This is going to be great. It's going to give me something to focus on, something more important than Levi and all of his bullshit. There are some fabulous classes that are going to provide me with excellent opportunities for creativity. And I'm going to learn how to do something that I know that I will love doing.

Classes start May 19. I can't tell you how excited I am to finally be doing something good for myself.

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?

So, are you all ready for this...Levi actually did something! He called Adrian's doctor and paid his $180 bill. Wow, right? I was pretty amazed myself. I think it took me three minutes standing in front of the receptionist before I realized that my mouth was hanging open.

When I got home, I checked my e-mail and I had this from Levi: "The bill has been paid and they will see Adrian. You can call the doctor's office, go to future appts etc. They will help you get free insurance. They said they told you this but you never followed up. You never follow up with anything."

Okay, that pissed me off. I actually hit the roof on that one. How dare he imply that I don't follow through in regards to my son, in regard to my son's health! Does he have any idea how insulting that is, especially coming from him?!

I mean, geez...he pays one bill — one bill that he was ordered by a judge to pay — and suddenly he thinks he has the right to imply that I'm not a good mother.

Do I need to remind him that I've been here since day one? That I'm the one who takes him to the doctor? That I'm the one who cooks him dinner, gives him baths, takes him to the playground, etc.? Does he need reminding that Adrian climbs into bed with ME at night, that I'm the only one of us that he knows?

I suppose he'd like it if I got down on my knees and thanked him for paying the stupid bill. And you know what, maybe I should, because its really a miracle.

I would really like to believe that Levi did that because he actually has a conscience and it was starting to get to him. I'd like to believe that he paid it out of concern for our son. I'd like to believe all of that, but I'm more inclined to believe that he paid it simply because he's worried that he'll get in trouble if he doesn't.

It's always all about him.