Friday, October 23, 2009

Not A Tiny Little Division Of Hallmark

Taa Daa.

It's 3 a.m and I'm up to my old tricks: waking up at the butt crack of dawn in mid rant with the bed covers wrapped around me like a straight jacket.

Reconciliation indeed...

The person that I was ten months and four days ago is dead. Dead and gone.

No more door mat, no more excuses, no more patience, no more swallowing the day in and day out pain of being married to a fucking loser.

The most hilarious thing is (and believe me, when you wake up at 3 a.m, breaking into random hysterical laughter is a distinct possibility), even if he had just been unfaithful and I had kicked him out of the house and there hadn't been any earth shattering awfulness, I STILL wouldn't take him back!

Dear Jesus Christ on Toast! Not only does he think that I could actually stand in front of him without sticking a shiv in his ribs, but he thinks that after wasting 17 years of my life with a person that made me feel like shit on a daily basis, I would be raising my hand and saying "Oh please sir, I'll have another!"

Check this little head trip out: If we got back together do you think he'd still ask me to call him "daddy" while we have sex? Seriously...SERIOUSLY?...I just want to vomit.

Hey! Let's make the perfect Hallmark Card for this occasion! It can be a whole new line of greeting cards for prisoners!

On the cover of the card, in gilded letters with a tacky late eighties pastel color scheme:

As I sit here in my cell,
comparing ways to groom young girls for sex with my cell mate,
my mind harkens back to a far better time.
A time when I could eat all the junk food I wanted,
ignore my family,
and spend hours on end cyber-fucking my girlfriend.
I could do and say whatever I wanted
and there was never a threat of being gang raped
in the shower.
I could go to work and come home
and never lift a finger to help you with anything
and you were the perfect tool
and fitted the job with ease.
I miss you darling,
my perfect little door mat.
I miss wiping my feet on your back
on a daily basis.

Remember the good old days?

And on the inside of the card?

Wish I was there
Cuz I just realized
that in four and a half years,
I just might be homeless




I'd just like to propose my own little love song for this occasion. It's the only thing that I have that even remotely expresses my feelings at this exact moment.


2 comments:

Marty said...

I think I get the point.

Anonymous said...

ok I have read all your blogs, but the last three have me blown away. Quite Frankly, there is a court order demanding that he stay away from you and yours. Try to press charges and see if he can get time added for this conduct. Then send him a nice homemade cake made of extra laxatives. Then just say I thought it was baking chocolate! Give the shits to the fucking shit! This is just one of the very few times in my life that I wish for the real old kind of justice. This would be done, you'd be a widow collecting ssi for your kids until they are 18 years of age, you'd each get all the therapy you needed as a widow. The community would all come over and put the house right and have a big ole hoe down around his strung up corpse.
Tabatha (friend in Folsom)