Fart

Let me be candid from the outset. This little bit of commentary will be uncomfortable for some to read. But then, if I can’t elicit at least that emotion from the reader, I have no business pressing these little keys until an idea emerges, do I?

Farts are a fact of life. In fact, they are a proof of life, as it were, although dead people also may fart from time to time as the need, and gases of decomposition, arise. For the living, however, farts are often inopportune and a sullen inconvenience. On that point, I wonder if there is a time that represents the optimal temporal opportunity for gaseous effluence. Farts may be odoriferous or benign, gregarious or timid. I imagine that females actually do not fart at all, thus accounting for their distemperate attitude towards males who, as a group, are a notoriously gassy bunch.

There are very bad times to fart and some not-so-good moments, like during a funereal or when near an open flame. But of more concern is not the event of the fart itself, but of the quality of the fart. Yes, I believe we all know, at least us males, that there is a broad range of possibilities. Most preferable are the dry, lift-one-cheek, airy variety most like letting the air out of a camp mattress. Least desirable are sputtering, wet, acrid, short-singeing farts that give Jackson Pollack a run for his money if the derriere of the afflicted farter could be positioned perpendicular to a primed canvas of appropriate size.

In this way, farts are like lawsuits. They both begin for different reasons and at different moments in the human life-cycle. Some take a long time to produce results, and the peak of the bell curve for both farts and lawsuits represents something messy, unpleasant and unfortunate. Farts and lawsuits that can be suppressed are a win, a sort of lower abdominal settlement. But when they go all the way, the outcome is uncertain, but at least one person will be very uncomfortable and someone will have to clean up the mess.

My absence from these pages as of late can be explained away by my involvement in one heck of a stinker. My last foray into matrimonial conjugification was at least a failure if not a disaster. This is because I simply do not have the ability to identify psychopaths. Oh, I know. You’re thinking that this is just more sour grapes from another weak male not willing to take responsibility for his part in a failed relationship. Um, no. That’s not it. In this case, I take responsibility for not cashing my reality check and outlining what was crystal clear to not less than a half-dozen people at the time of my enamoration, that the girl of my dreams was, in fact, suffering from borderline personality disorder.

Actually, for those who have know, lived with or attempted to love someone with BPD, it’s not the afflicted person who suffers – it’s everyone else. Unfortunately, when this is turned into legal wranglings, it can get very expensive. When we were rolling up to the divorce date, a scant three years ago, I was spending two grand a month just to keep her at arm’s length. In the end, the total spent was enough to buy a modest house in some or another less high-falutin’ part of the country and have money left over for a pool, above-ground, of course. I should have run away.

Well, since we were divorced, that should be that, right? Perhaps if it was you and me, perhaps it would be civil and adult. But, unfortunately, a BPD’ed individual thrives on the stimulation from absolute drama and is so expert at using all resources at manipulation and can do so with utterly no remorse, that there never is an end, even when employing expertly-honed low-contact techniques.

After years of post-divorce wrangling which was really just time-wasting emotional abuse, it came time to sort up a nice and tight suit. And sure enough, since no one can know the case better than me, I chose myself as the lawyer. Yay. Don’t worry, I’m not totally stupid. You’ve no doubt heard the old saw, “The lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client.” This is because even for someone who trained in the law, the emotional components involved in a legal proceeding make sound judgment unlikely. So, I do have an attorney who is of counsel and I’m on the brief, that is to say that I do the motions, cross-motions, orders, certifications and so forth – anything to do that has to be researched and written down.

The idea is to be concise and precise. This is very difficult. Try describing something in sufficient detail so that another person a thousand miles away can draw it. No try doing that in one sentence, Twitter-length. Not so easy, neh? Even worse when one fancies oneself a writer. It’s necessary to convey clearly that which the Judge needs to know with the appearance of as little vitriol as possible, also not easy when having to relive serial psychoses of years gone by.

But, it’s done. I have eaten the burrito and I am ready to do my worst, or should I say wurst? Ha ha! In the end, ha again, it may be like a fallow breeze or like a leaking sump hose, but this fart is a-comin’ Don your protective eye-wear and clothes-pins and let’r RIIIIPPPPPP!