cluttering the net since 2001

sorry is a four letter word

Monday, Mar. 18, 2002
Always sorry.
Sad words falling out of
Gumball machines
Sour bitter candies
My penny thoughts
Cost me more than
An eternity of peace


And another day that the voice mail begins pouring in…

12:49 a.m.

hey it’s a quarter after 12. Real nice hanging up on me there. I didn’t think we were done talking but I guess you are. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

8:49 a.m.

hey.. you know I understand that I have caused you a lot of pain. But do not presume that I am not feeling this too because my hearts breaking feeling this.


Please don’t tell me that I had no right to go into my house. I had a key. He gave me that right. He knew I was going to come and go at my own free will. He was aware of it. Of course this was the first and only time that I ever went there unannounced and/or at 2 a.m. The first and only time… and it was the only time I had to.

When I moved out he and I had huge long talks about what I was trying to achieve. 3 days prior to Saturday night I was in bed with him. Having sex with him. Telling him that I loved him and wanted to move in with him and Bucky once they rented a house. I was telling him I wanted my marriage, telling him I got lost somewhere along the way and moved out to find myself. 5 days ago he was holding me telling me he understood it all. I believed him.

3 days later….


This morning my son looks at me in the car on the way to school and with the saddest eyes says to me, “Daddy’s not going to go to heaven when he dies huh Mommy?”

In the smallest voice that I’ve ever shoved across my tongue I said, “no”. I wanted to say, “there is no heaven…there is only hell.” But I didn’t. I looked at his crying blue eyes and couldn’t.


My thoughts are so broken right now…

On Sat night prior to 2 a.m. my son called me wanting me to come over and get a teddy bear that he bought for me. I went there at 11 p.m. and said “Mrs. Cleaver” was there rolling around on my bedroom floor with my son and her son and I promptly stated that it was inappropriate. I asked her not to interfere. I told her that I loved my husband and didn’t dump out on my marriage. That I left in an effort to change the situation for the better. She said, “ok”.

Ok meant “ok I’ll fuck your husband and see if that helps?”

Did it mean “ok I am not listening to you”

What did it mean? What the fuck?


It was because of the vibe I caught at 11:30 ..her in my bedroom…. That was why I went there. That was the thing that caused me to drive back there after pacing in my apartment for an hour and half arguing with myself that I had no right to do that to arguing that I have every right because my son lives there and because that is still MY husband.

Now I struggle with the notion that it wasn’t a good idea to it was a good idea to….what the fuck difference does it all make.


And I’m listening to his voice mails…his messages…his words..his phone calls. A husband that claims that he was lost..that she was ”paying attention” to him when I was ”moving out”. I think she was the widow spider stalking her prey. And he’s one pathetic fucking fly.


Her husband called me on Saturday morning apologizing to me. Telling me not to worry about the door I broke. Telling me he didn’t blame me. Telling me he understands my pain because she’s got some fucked up psychological problem whereby she seduces married men and that this was not her first time. I simply stated.. “you need to kick her ass out of the house and go on with your life.” He said, “Jesus wants us to forgive.” Apparently Mr Cleaver, has already told my husband that he’s been forgiven. I think the entire matter is fucking sick. There will be no forgiveness from me for anything or anyone.

I promptly went outside of my apartment with a razor blade and scraped off my cute little “got jesus?” sticker from my Preludes back window. I scraped and scraped and scraped and cried and tears mixed into all the sticky stuff that doesn’t want to come off…. I cried Jesus right out of my life. There is no Jesus. I will NOT be finding solace in any bible. I stood over my kitchen sink burning the Corinthians….page by page. The love chapter can fuck off. There’s something so sad about watching words bend up into charcoal. Something so sad about looking at my white hands all black and blue. Razor blade-like cuts running the length of my fingers. Blood collected under the surface. Pain that can’t get out.

9:57 a.m. ::
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