@fb2: Naahhhhhhh. We're all about the 50/50 basically, except where the kids are concerned (60/40 in my favor, owing to differences in work schedules) and WAW's separate property (which I have no beef about -- she inherited it from deceased grands and parents and shares it with her sister). WAW's pretty cheesed-off about spousal support -- big philosophical debate that is, "of course," completely NOT about the fact that she has to pay it
But otherwise we're much more aligned with o'dog's way -- very non-adversarial. My lawyer consult will simply be to explain things in a way my puny brain can understand.
@alive -- thanks for the tip. We'll talk. A L-friend recommended I see Lawyer Guy. Who turns out to be Divorce-Lawyer-to-the-Stars. Which I think is reaching a bit. I didn't make $40 million for my last film. Come to think of it, I didn't make a million for my last film. Come to think of it, I don't HAVE a last film. Dammit! I KNEW I did something wrong....
@Gypsy -- oddly enough, you were one of the people who commended me on the openness and emotional heartfeltedness of my earlier posts
You're right, though -- kid d-bomb will be hellacious, and I'm sure there will be no small amount of Smiley's Person bemoaning the fates come that day.
I will say that many, many people in my life have proposed that my humor -- for lack of a better term -- is a "defense mechanism." Somewhere up-thread(s), either @fb2 or @Forrest Gump termed it "whistling past the graveyard." It's been referred to / criticized / attacked / applauded as snark, wit, avoidance, disrespect, attitude, a warped vision, you-name-it.
When I went to Big Midwestern City and reconnected with old friends from high school after 30 years, it absolutely came up time and again -- Ohmigod! Smiley's Person! I can't believe it! You look great! (where "great" is a codeword for "thank god he looks older than I do!") I remember how you were always joking!
When I first went into therapy, I brought this issue up, because I'm pretty much like I am here in there. And since the D-bomb I've revisited it with my shrink, not just because of comments like the ones here on the boards, but because I was worried that maybe I was too silly to take my M seriously and that's what helped mess it up.
A couple weeks ago my therapist laughed really loudly at something I said -- so much so that his receptionist/aide, who was shocked at this breach in decorum, knocked on the door to see if everything was okay -- finally caught his breath and said, "You know, I don't think this is a defense -- I think you're just really a funny guy with a really unique perspective. Consider yourself fortunate. And go into comedy writing."
So take it for what it's worth.
Folk hereabout seem to be confusing my mojo with avoidance. Do I hurt inside? Of course I do. Do I feel fear? Of course I do.
One example -- as I mentioned up-thread, WAW is really into this close-physical-proximity thing these days, which I can't figure out. So much so, in fact, that last night I had to consciously move away from her. So, like, um, whazzapwitdat? Is it a taunt? Is it a test? Is she inviting me to make a Schnarch-like move and "do" her? (Ohhhhhhh, put THOSE thoughts out of yer mind, Person!) She was always "personal space, personal space!" (Maybe it's one of HER 180s?)
So that kind of thing happens, and I get all conflicted (see @Thinker's discussion in his thread).
And we're acting nice with each other, and smiling, and (follow the links if you want) it's almost like Old Times. And that's hard -- for all the reasons so many DB'ers, and especially (recently) @Thinker, have discussed here. Bill Evans' recording of "My Foolish Heart" can still bring me to my knees. And I still can't -- may never be able to -- listen to what was one of my absolutely favorite tracks, Miles Davis' recording of "My Funny Valentine".
But all of that notwithstanding, I understand that I have to move forward, shark-like, that if I stop I will perish.
So the mojo isn't about denying the Truth. It's about overcoming the Truth. It's about (again, I like the gerund) the Letting Go.
Let me appeal here to our Christian friends. One fine Iraq morning I was chatting with our battalion chaplain in The Smoking Pit, an area we'd set aside for gum-flapping, rag-chewing, spleen-venting, and nicotine-consumption, and Dago Red mentioned that, his beatific nature to the contrary notwithstanding, Jesus didn't seek to die on the cross for the sins of man. On the Mount of Olives before his trial and conviction, he asks that the cup be taken from him but, if not, he'll suck it up and drive on. That's mojo.
Now by no means -- Heathen I may be -- am I comparing myself to Jesus. What I'm suggesting is that this idea, that mojo is about The Overcoming, The Acceptance, is not unique to me.
