cluttering the net since 2001

contact paper is for shelves

Wednesday, May. 28, 2003
I wish I could talk about making a quilt, or stirring a pot of vegetable soup or just watching a bunch of the neighborhood kids playing....but right now my life is just not like that. It's something different. Something else. I don't know anymore what the word "better" means. I used to think that just to get away from ex would be "better". But I'm paying such a huge price for that. I sometimes just wish I had been the one to throw him out, grow some balls and just left him fucked over rather than the other way around. I think that's the real source of anger. Check me out, one class and they talked about nothing but how they ended up there in class. One black girl talked about how her father made her "fucking angry" by discussing her sex life as though she were a nympho. Nevermind that she had a tiny shirt on that wouldn't fit Chloe my dog, and a skirt so short I was afraid to even look at her. I didn't want that image...whatever horror it was to be imprinted on my mind. It doesn't matter in that class that she was a whore, it mattered that someone had the audacity to tell her and make her angry. The answer to all this nonsense? (given by a very mary poppins sounding 15 yr old lookalike chewing bubble gum) was to simply "take a time out". (said with all smiles) One class and all I was thinking about was how at least fifty percent of the women sitting there were the product of a bad childhood, the former spouce of a cheesehead wanna be man or at the very least too young to control themselves. Somewhere there were a few men that should be struck down dead for what they did to these women. One woman had her face all bruised up, she told us a story about her man beating her with a fan blade from a ceiling fan and the cops came and told her to go to a shelter.

I got a copy of my police report today. In it my son was listed as a witness for the defense. Thank God I pled no contest. The idea of my son being subjected to court, judges, and being asked questions in front of both his parents made me pull my truck over and throw up along the side of the road. So I did.

I worked out the issue of my missing a half hour of work every Tuesday for these classes. It helps to have a supervisor (UNGER) who keeps an attorney on retainer for all his bad choice too much party weekend charades. He said, "I was on probation once for 5 years, it's all a money making scheme for the state to make some cash since we don't have state income tax." Makes you wonder.

So..my life feels like it partially belongs to someone else. The only good thing that might come from these classes is that when I talked about my situation there were a few women there that offered to help me out with advice, ..etc. Go figure. Who woulda thunk it?

At the current moment there is no communication with ex and I. I could care less and the last few times there was contact he made it. Then he threatens to turn me in for having contact with him? Whatever. I don't trust him. It's all becoming tiresome and petty. Truly.

7:37 a.m. ::
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