I had an incredibly frustrating day yesterday. I left work an hour early to attempt to make the drive from Fort Knox to Louisville in order to file our divorce petition. I had planned it so that I should get there at 4 PM, 30 minutes before the office closed on their 8:30 to 4:30 PM schedule.
Utilizing directions from Google, I went straight up Dixie Highway to Interstate 264. As I approached my exit for Interstate 64 (where I needed to go East for less than a half mile), the road signs announced a specific detour to take because of construction. That detour took me in the opposite direction across the state line into Indiana via the freeway, a good 20 minutes out of my way.
Once I finally got to the court building (where I had to drop off my pepper spray with the guard), I headed upstairs to the second floor to find the Family Court, which was in suite two-hundred something according to the website.
As I finished an entire circuit of the floor, I asked a gentleman coming out of the administrative office where the Family Court was. He directed me across a ped-way linking the building I was in to another building. Once I crossed and stepped up to the office listing, I saw my destination downstairs in what looked like a driver's license office.
I was not feeling too good about this process as it was. In fact, it depressed me, and it still does. After about two minutes of waiting, the clerk asked if he could help me.
"Is there where I file a Petition for a Divorce?" I asked.
"We stop taking petitions after 4," he replied. As I looked at my watch, I noticed it was 4:07. "Besides, you probably don't have all the right forms. Do you have this one?" he said holding up a 5 x 7 form. "It's watermarked and needs to be typed."
I politely took the form from him, asked where a typewriter was, and after having to ask where the on switch was, proceeded to fill out the form. When I was done, I left grumbling loud enough to hear, "I hate this city," spelling out the day's reasons.
I couldn't believe I took an hour off work, drove an hour in the heat, to have absolutely nothing done. I decided to stop by for a drink before I headed back to take care of the dogs.
While I was sitting there, the bartendress who had apparently just gotten off struck up a conversation with me. Soon, I heard my name: "Sophie?"
I turned to see an older gentleman with pink eyes starting at me. "Have you heard from Carrie?," he said. I told him a little, and once I heard his name was Sedge, I told him more. It seems that he hadn't heard from Carrie since January. Carrie had asked me a couple months ago to let him know he was okay, and so I passed the information on.
Sugar, the bartendress sitting next to me, told me how she had honestly told Carrie that she felt that she looked more like a woman than a man when asked (not surprising, since this happened in a lesbian club). Carrie had apparently not taken that so well. To me, she looks and behaves more male-like, more in tune with her gender identity.
When I explained to Sugar that I and Carrie had to learn that different people pick up different gender clues, she told me, "You're just Sophie." Not sure what she meant by that, she started asking questions about my transition and orientation, about my early childhood, etc.
Needless to say, when I finished my drink I headed back to my coworker's house to take care of the pups, and that didn't go so well, as the ID tag popped open, sending one pup running and the other dog going down the long step. Eventually, I managed to get things back under control and settled for the night.
I called in to work to explain that my personal legal errand wasn't finished yet, and got the court when it opened. The petition's been filed, and I can sense the resulting depression trying to kick in. If it wasn't for the fact that I had transitioned already, I don't know that I could handle it. On the other hand, the transitioning is also partially responsible for the divorce.
I can see that I'm out of time. Maybe dance lessons will raise my spirits tonight.
Hugs and God Bless,