I really don’t talk much about the money I may or may not be receiving from my husband in the coming months. I figured there’s no point. It’s a lawsuit; they can go either way, they can be large or small or nothing at all, also he could simply take the money and fuck off to England if he wants to.
But today I allowed myself to think about it just for a little bit.
The attorney I consulted with earlier this week put the seed into my head. He asked me the amount of the lawsuit. I told him. He asked me what I thought I’d get. That’s a really tough question. Remember that my husband, his attorney, and me will be splitting it three ways.
I told him, “I don’t know. I’m thinking $30,000 to $100,000 and if I’m lucky, more.”
I still don’t know how likely that is. I don’t know all the things the jury or judge or whomever will be considering. I don’t really know the laws of the case. I only know it was his employer who treated him vilely and illegally and he created a severely “hostile work environment” for my husband.
I can honestly say, without a hint of fakery, that during all the stuff his employer did, my husband never once behaved inappropriately. Coming from a man who is outspoken and argumentative it is nothing short of a miracle. But for once in his life my husband completely behaved and didn’t do anything wrong. This is why there’s a case.
I know we live in a lawsuit happy world and I’m not proud to be in the middle of a lawsuit (technically I’m not), but this man is a horrid human being. And I’m glad that if he did mistreat both my husband and I that it was blatantly against the law, not just some crap he pulled that people might say, “Yeah, what a jerk. That sucks. But it’s not illegal.” What he did was illegal.
So, the case aside, I started to think today about what I would do if the case were $30,000 or $75,000 or $100,000 or even more. It made my head explode.
When my last husband and I divorced I took the assets of that marriage and bought a condo with cash totally $160,000. Then the recession hit and I couldn’t give the condo away. Then I borrowed off of it so that my present husband and I could start a business. Then last summer I sold it and the bank mailed me a check for $700.
Let that sink in a bit. I spent $160,000, I borrowed $50,000 (plus fees and interest) and I came away with $700. All because of fucking Wall Street Greed (and the dumb loan I took out). I’m one of those people. Basically I lost about $100,000. Me, a recently divorced woman with 18 years of marital assets all in one place. Yep.
And this MIGHT be my opportunity to get that back, or some of it back.
I want it and I really need it.
Nobody even calls me for a fucking interview! If I don’t get the money, and don’t start a business, how will I live when my parents are no longer around? I’ll tell you how. I’ll have to go register with an employment agency and be sent to dusty crappy places of businesses all over town making about $10 an hour and no health benefits. Yippee.
So today I began to imagine what it would be like to again get regular haircuts. To buy clothes at some place other than Old Navy. To stand tall and be a serious business woman — something I have always longed for.
I began to think about having a place of my own. I shoved the idea of the small yellow house aside and imagined myself in a new or revamped downtown apartment somewhere close to my new business. I imagined decorating the flat with all the things I have in storage in my mid-century-modern-meets-Sweden style. Mostly white with pale or dark wood furniture with splashes of vibrant color in the rugs and pillows, etc. My sanctuary.
It filled me with joy.
But that was enough. No need to spend too long on that fantasy. I simply cannot comprehend what it will be like the day his attorney hands me a check for my share. I really cannot imagine that. And, if his case is successful, the lawyer will represent me in a similar suit, but naturally it would be for less money, since I was not the employee.
And that money, if there is any, will be all mine.
So many ifs.
But my life has been on hold this now ten months since d-day. TEN MONTHS. And as I said in my last post, the limbo has got to end; it’s just been the story of my life for years and years.
I’m fit enough, strong enough, have enough energy and enthusiasm. I want to be a business woman.
I probably have four or five fairly solid ideas, but one of them feels like more of a sure money maker than the others. I’m sorry I can’t mention that here, but maybe someday.
I am going to try to save a few dollars so that I can take some quickbooks classes. Actually, now that I type that out, I realize I can probably learn it all online right now. I’ll look into that. I’ve got a problem of not wanting to face bank balances, and that has to stop immediately.
My husband spoke recently about moving to Portland. I was surprised he’d still consider staying in Oregon, but his main friend (and benefactor) lives up there, so it makes sense. And it’s big enough and far away enough where I’d never have to fear running into him. It’s not him I fear, it’s him with another woman. The idea of it still overwhelms me.
Oh, and he said he needs to move because he fears for his safety in this town after the lawsuit.
I always need to remember that my husband is a liar. I recall when I read his cell phone bills all the many, many calls to Portland numbers. Now, why would that be? Hmmm? Asshole.
The sad part is I feel he’ll go there, invest wrong and go through his money in no time, ending up where he always ends up: broke. I pray for the sake of his daughters that that is not the case, but I fear it. Who knows, maybe with the right woman he can be a success.
He told me yet again that if I open the sort of business I am entertaining that he’d invest in it as a silent partner. I said nothing, but as I’ve said before, if I’m not good enough to be his wife, I don’t want to be his fucking business partner.
He actually told me it’s because he thinks I’ll be good at it, and I won’t screw him over. Now that’s rich. That is correct, I would not screw him over — as he has screwed me over.
Having some money, a business, a home, will make me a different person. And I will work night and day to help my daughter and parents. I hope I can get on my feet without wasting too much time. I wish this had all happened twenty years ago.
This may just be me dreaming, as usual. God knows I know how to do that. But what do we become when we give up our dreams? I don’t want to know.
Okay I must stop now because it’s too yummy, and it could all be for nothing if the settlement is simply too small to do anything with!
One last fantasy:
The attorney hands me my check. The amount is satisfactory. My husband says, “Okay, let’s go into business.” And I tell him to fuck off and move to Portland.