Imagining her with him.
It's like lying in a field that's in the midst of a forest fire. It hurts like nothing in the world could hurt. It makes things that go through my mind hurt worse than the broken bones, natural child-labor and birth three times in a row, or watching my mother as she struggles through a heart attack.
I would rather sacrifice a finger, or two fingers, than agree to allow my mind to wander toward what their filthy behavior actually looked like, where it started, why it started, what he was thinking.... OMG, I would rather give up chocolate, orgasms for ten years, and/or my own life than hear what filth he had to say about me, lie about me, that made his affair worth it.
When I'm being politically correct on a web site, I am more willing to admit to my own imperfections. But frankly, I'm not on a shitty web-site. I am writing my blog, MY blog, so I get to say what I'm feeling, just like a diary except incognito.
I mean, in a diary you have concerns you don't want anyone to know you have, but if you hide the darn thing under your mattress and if you write that you liked the taste of Billy Smith's gum on his breath and lips while you made out with him, you better expect your mom to read that and have a load of questions. However, in this case, in THIS diary, this blog, which are all hidden in cyber space, I can use gross terminology and say what I think and for once in my life not worry about what other people will think of ME. Because my blog me is throwing her ass out there on the table for real. I get to say "Occasionally my heart is so broken I feel that I would be capable of packing up a few things, jumping a plane to Ethiopia or Africa or France. I could be capable of leaving the house, the kids the dog.... everything I know behind in order to forget what has broken me, and do something positive."
I often fantasize about running away.... there's this one stubborn problem I have. I'm in love with my husband. I really see where he may not be my best option, but I LOVE him. WTF, how unfair is it that he gets to fall for some skeezy nasty skank who has got to have less soul in her... well than a cannibalistic baby killer/eater, and bang the hell out of her while I'm clueless...... yet I'm sitting home wishing the man I know is in there will come out, be a decent guy and act like a real man and husband.
In other words, he had ready and willing sex, and I had the rest of the package; kids, house, bills, life, surgical intervention within my spine, to deal with.... and he had his face buried in some icky sticky (insert rhyming name of OW here)'s (Insert body part of your choice here).
God. If you ever wash your hands, scrub your arms and elbows up, & decide to cheat, realize wtf you are prepping for. Because there's damage you don't even comprehend is possible, just waiting at the end of every old FaceBook contact, familiar face at a bar, neighbor friend, and/or God Knows what else....
Is my anger still fizzling around here like pissed off static electricity? Sorry but I promised to lay it on the line. So there it is!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment