I hate it when people ask me “so how are you doing…” and not add the “with the divorce thing, you know” …..
I still don’t know what to say.
Some days I am super happy. I have the remote control. I can make star angels in the bed, and can poo with the door open. The world is pretty much my oyster.
The next day I don’t want to get out of bed.
I am not sure if I miss or hate Kennith. It could be a bit of both.
Yesterday evening driving home I saw him running along the side of the road.
In a split second I had two thoughts “drive the fucker over” and “shame, I should stop and give him a lift” ….. but I understood that both would probably have a knock on effect to him running the Comrades, and instead chose to just drive on.
I hate that he has toddled out of this relationships straight into another. And seems happy.
I want to kick him in his hairy little face and say “look what you did fuck wad….” but I guess he did not do it all by himself.
Why can he not have a relationship where they are fighting and throwing cat food at each other? But in a non sexual way!
Why can’t he be muttering “she is a dumb bitch” under his breath ….. instead of looking so delightfully peaceful? I am seriously ……….. seriously
I want to ram a fork into his shoulder, just to see if he will react. I will blame her of course. I know I can do it, I figured out how to sneak into their house …. I know which door squeaks, I know where the forks are kept.
I can be in and out of them in under 8 seconds ……. at the moment I am still at 14 seconds.
But I train two or three times a week, and my times are getting better. I am only going to stab him with a fork, it’s not like I am going to shoot him whilst he is on the crapper. Relax people.
You will know when I am unhinged, trust me, you will know.
I hate that my kids keep telling me how wonderful she is – I don’t know her, and I still want to drive her over. If my kids compare her to me one more time, I am seriously going to start to take Xmas money away from them and tell them J stole it.
On other days I sigh and I think how peaceful life is and I am glad K is not lonely, and I am glad he is dating someone who seems to be nice to my children.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
I never think that. I’d like to. That would mean I was potentially a nice person.
I just lie there and go fuckity fuck fuck. Fuck it all ….. “now bring me wine and chocolate” I scream at no one in particular. Hence I get neither.
I am fine for several days, and then I am not. It might have nothing to do with Kennith it might just be PMS, but fuck that, I am blaming him for it all right now.
I do not want Kennith back. I do not want him to die. I do not want him to explode into 1 000 little pieces. I am not sure what I want.
I lie in the bath and sip my wine – I have changed it up to a rosé – it makes me feel pretty and girly. And I still get drunk at about the same rate, so that is really all that matters right?
Life is good.
Life is kak.
Life just is.
My constipation was pretty bad on the weekend ….. just filling space here people, just filling space.
Some days I am so happy I sing along to really shitty songs.
Some days I cry at radio adverts. While the radio is off.
Other days I have MUSIC going so loud in my ear phones, I physically prevent myself from being able to think of anything. It also drowns out the sound of my kids arguing in the car, so really it is a win-win all round.
Last night I climbed into bed. The girls were already in my bed – this is kind of where they sleep most of the time. Sadly it reflects on my social life.
I got into bed, I was tired, exhausted, and the cat was trying to find a spot. Isabelle’s chubby slightly damp little hand came over my shoulder and held onto my arm, and for that little slice in time, I forgot everything and felt pure joy.
Then the cat clawed my foot, and I tried to kick him, missed and kicked the end of the bed, and the moment was just that little bit less magical.
As said before, fuckity fuck fuck. With a double fucker fuck fuck at the end.