I started writing this post days ago, and it was all about my ennui and despair and self-loathing and (never forget!) loathing of others and our general situation in the city, world, and universe.

That is gone. Yes, despair nudges in a little if I loiter on Twitter, but we’re back in wartime Astoria, and these are on-the-ground maneuvers. My mission: not going crazy and burning down my own stuff.

That is the most scary thing about Maggie–when she goes crazy, she infects us. Usually I am the most vulnerable because of my own sensitive brain, iffy equilibrium, and hotheadedness, but even Calvin has found himself tweaking, snarling, wanting to do bad things after prolonged Maggie attacks.

None of us are immune, but the good news is I have gone less crazy each subsequent attack.

The first wave—oh, that was a disaster. I actually gave her a loaf of raisin bread and said I would be her friend. Immediately following this conversation, she blasted music into the bedroom and then called the cops over and over, pretending to be me, until they took her away in handcuffs to the psych ward.

The second wave was the start of the water phase of the summer. Maggie turned her hose on to the front of our property and then the back of the property, until finally the EMTs took her to the psych ward, but not in handcuffs. This wave, I believe, spawned the many CPS investigations into whether Calvin and were exploitative domestic abusers.

[someday I want to explore the exploitative angle of Maggie’s CPS charge. I think Maggie was jealous of it! Not the special ed part—but the hardship/protected status of Daisy. It also posits an overbearing me who crows about Daisy’s journey from special ed to general ed. I hope I don’t do that. Maggie seems to love to brag about her daughter’s sexual preference as though we are dueling with our daughter’s issues as weapons.]

The third wave was harder to define since it did not culminate in the psych ward. The third wave crested with the Ditmarstons collectively losing it, the children and I on the balcony spraying a hose into the open window of Maggie’s car with her in it smoking. After that night, we hired a lawyer.

From there, we all mostly calmed down although the flooding of the basement happened after Wave 3. Because we were out of town when Maggie filled our basement with water, I can’t count it as a wave but it was a sign that we were dealing with a dangerous, truly destructive person who did not give a fuck.

The court case is moving and Maggie is not enthused

The day after the hearing, Maggie struck. There were strange things happening before but they weren’t at us. There were random yells, Maggie’s daughter came by to visit, and lots of posturing outside.

Maggie’s lawyer sent our lawyer a legal-looking thing that wasn’t actually anything. It was a document that stated the plaintiff and the defendent would be civil to each other. Our lawyer said it was stupid and that he was ignoring it. I mean, she told our cleaning person that I was a ‘fucking cunt’ last month and had been playing her radio very loudly in the room next to our bedroom for days, so there was no civility to cling to.

But perhaps Maggie expected us to respond to the legal-looking document. After all, this is the woman who could delivery a monologue stuffed with fake legal terms–order of protection, harassment, blahbitty-blah. In her Go Fund Me project, she claims to be a “403b,” just waiting on her paperwork to be a full nonprofit.

A 403b is not a not-for-profit designation. It’s a retirement plan. There is no nonprofit happening in Maggie’s life. There is no actual productive business happening anywhere near her person. But she does jabber a good line of gibberish.

A day after the court date, she launched 24 hours of a Chinese radio blasting into our bedroom and went silent at 9:30 or so. Then, at 11 PM, we heard yelling. But nothing after that until she started up again at 8:00 AM.

It was a delight to sleep in the bed with Calvin and the cat, but it’s not a regular occurrence now.