Mandatory court appearance on Friday. We will see what the New Mouthpiece does and how Hizzoner responds.

At the end of "Where the Buffalo Roam," the not-entirely-successful film "inspired by the twisted legend of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson," Dr. Gonzo (YouTube @ 1:42) laments that "it still hasn't gotten weird enough for me."

Of course, Dr. Gonzo wasn't being divorced by STBX.

It has gotten way weird enough for me. Too weird even for my usual recounting of events. Allow me, if you might, to give an example:

For reasons known only unto STBX Herself, I have recently been accused of causing her -- by virtue of my comparative inaccessibility -- so much stress that she cannot sleep and has acquired a nerve malady so severe that, she claims, she is "possibly suffering permanent physical damage" as a result.

She has also professed herself in possession of a Sudden Fear, again for reasons known only unto Herself, that I am going to be "like the Blue Hills guy" -- a local getting-divorced fellow who murdered his children and committed suicide to get back at his soon-to-be-ex.

All of this is on the basis of my unwillingness to engage her in personal conversation.

Let us be clear. I have not engaged her in personal conversation. I have not yelled, cursed, raged, bemoaned, or otherwise inflicted upon her any untoward emotional states. From time-to-time, I have asked empirical questions. I have made arrangements for the children.

Above all, I have refused to Take the Bait. Por ejemplo:

Today, I needed to take my car in for servicing. I pointed this out to her in response to her request to drop the children off bright-and-early. I noted that I would have to get back home, which is about 6 miles from the shop. (This, I thought [though I did not share this thought], would be a good excuse for a run.) Consequently, it would have to be bright and not-so-early.

So.

No more than 48 hours after the aforementioned descriptions, she offered to give me a lift back from the shop, because this would be "better" for her. I politely declined.

She restated the offer. I declined.

She re-restated the offer.

Tiring of the game -- Miss Someone has observed that STBX has, over the past couple months, really really really been trying to get me to play my former marital roles -- I stated that my conscience and the respect and esteem in which I hold her as the mother of our children forbade my acceptance of her very kind offer, as I was loathe indeed to put her into such close proximity with so profound a source of permanent-physical-damage-inducing, child-killing, suicide-committing stress.

To this she replied, "I am sorry to hear that."

Um, wha'? You state that in your point-of-view I'm a potential child-murderer and two days later offer me a ride, three times, which I decline, three times, and then you tell me you're sorry I'm unwilling to accept your offer? Why? Because it would be more convenient for you if I scheduled my life around your schedule, the way I used to?

Whoa.

In the Annals of Not Getting-It-dom, this is Olympic gold medal/Stanley Cup/Lombardy Trophy/Tour de France yellow jersey-winning Not Getting It.

Yeah, man -- it has definitely gotten weird enough for me.

That is some catch, that Catch-22 -- the best there is.