A Day Late and A Dollar Short

My lawyer adjusted his bi-focals and shuffled the papers on his desk before looking up at my soon to be ex-husband and then frowning at me. A word, he said quietly and getting to his feet, steered me out of the office. In the hall, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat, meeting my eyes with a professional sterness. This, his voice calm but firm, is a mistake. He wanted an agreement that would secure me a lifetime percentage of my husband's income, I was entitled to it, had earned it, he assured me, and my husband wouldn't fight it. You need to let me write this in, he repeated, trust me. I took a deep breath and dug in, Absolutely not, I said fimly, I don't want his money. We had covered this ground before but couldn't reach any kind of agreement. He felt that I was making a decision on false pride and would come to regret it. I was feeling feisty, searching for a way to be independent for the very first time, determined to make it on my own. I wanted no pity, no soft words, and absolutely no charity, especially from the man I was divorcing. My freedom was within sight and I refused to compromise it by accepting long term funding which I suspected might have long term strings attached. My lawyer saw things quite differently and although he tried every argument and every tactic, I would not be moved. The papers were signed - against his legal advice - and we moved on.

Stubborness is in my genes and, as I did then, I often confuse it with self respect. The hard times that followed my first divorce and then my second would've been considerably easier with a supplemental income source and even now perhaps I would not have had to take a second job, but as my grandmother frequently told me, the milk is already spilled, best to clean it up and get a fresh glass. Long term thinking and my philosophy of "One day at a time" seem to be on a permanent collision course and I walk a fine line to keep them both in balance.

I've worked since I was fourteen - summer camp counselor to nurses aid to the telephone company to copywriter for a radio station. Administrative assistant for a theater renovation project to executive director of an animal rights group to college bookstores. Administrative assistant for an independent jewelry maker to camera store to modeling agency. And now with my 59th birthday behind me, I'm going to work two jobs to keep body and soul together, a day late and a dollar short, but still on the road. Whether it be stubborness or self respect I'm still not sure.

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