I hit a brick wall the past week, I mean, I sill feel as if I am staggering around, stunned by the sudden impact of smashing into that proverbial brick wall.
I was feeling great, on top of the world. I felt as if the past was behind me and the future, the future was oh-so-bright. Suddenly, as a BS will do, I hit that fricken brick wall, and everything seemed so…. so…. meaningless.
Not because I am broken hearted. Not because ” I can’ t live without you, my dear husband. My husband who I will take faithful or not” Oh, EFF no, the prior has nothing to do with maintaing my married stance. It has to do with GUILT. Guilt that there was this part of me that could not stand my H.28
The explanation of the above statement goes way back. I was still a child at 28- okay 38 years old. I was still furious that my H was NOT the man my parents thought he should be. Trust me; I will follow-up this post, with “Marrying your parents” It sounds a little “victimized” trust me, it’s not.
So, to carry on with my Brick Wall, I will tell it to you effing suck’s, slamming into this wall. I hate it. Every time I think all is well; I knock myself out, total shock. How can this be at 53 years of age?!
All I can think of are the times I know he has lied. The rest, they become “mind movies” as we call them at my hangout.
Here am I, hanging with the girls for a bachelorette weekend, a weekend where my H fucked the hell out of his harem. At least, in my mind’s eye that is what happened.
BTW… he has called several times. (oopsie I didn’t hear or see my phone) eventually, leading to the calling of of my guests.
Sorry honey, I am too infuriated to take your call; But, “Love you and miss you too.”
This, That, and Maybe More 