My divorce is final. I received the papers telling me this last week. Our mediator's cover letter opened with the word "Congratulations," which I felt was an odd choice, but I suppose any judgment that ends with only minor blood loss is a cause for celebration in the eyes of a divorce mediator.

I have a big, manila envelope that I shove all my divorce crap into, the idea being that once this is done, I can seal the bastard, shove it to the back of my file box and put it out of my mind, forever. Thinking that this final "Stipulated Judgment" would be the end of it, I stuffed it onto my big folder and folded the clasp down.

It broke.

For some reason, I was much more pissed off than I should be. It's not like the envelope exploded or all the mind-numbing paperwork within suddenly flew out and consumed me like Robert De Niro in Brazil. I mean, I can still just tape it shut.

I suppose I was annoyed because I realized that, just as I can no longer properly seal this divorce envelope, I'll never be able to seal the divorce envelope in my head either. I'd love to focus exclusively on the feelings of liberation and self awareness I've been experiencing in the last few weeks, but the fact is, this beautiful, flawed and failed experiment of a marriage, as well as the twisted end it came to are part of my psyche until the day I die. That envelope will never close, so what I do now is accept that and move on.

Good news is, I'm getting damn close.