Why do one punch when two punches will have a better chance of hitting it’s target?

I realise I may well be playing the world’s smallest violin in this particular series of posts.

But dude, I need to get this shit out of my head.

Part of me has been unwilling to write/post about this because I am consumed with who reads this blog and what they will think.

I took that entire situation under advisement and I have come back with a resounding “yeah, fuck ’em …” this is my story.

I get to create the scenes and the characters, if you do not want to read it or disagree, then please sir, may I show you the door?  Or the conveniently located “click away” button.

I may well regret things I say here today, later today or tomorrow morning.  This is how I feel at the moment.

I have always used this blog as a place to put things.

That no longer belong in my head.

I do not do well with bottling things up inside of me.  I can feel the cracks forming …. its time to just “blech” it here.

I realise that for some people who read this they are going to be thinking “Geez Louise that was ages ago, move on..” and that is fine for them to think.  Totally fine.

Unfortunately in my head things move at a different pace and time, and right now I have a lot of stuff that needs to come out.  I do not know how long I will need to “move on” and if my moving on appears too slow for your timetable, I wish to apologise that I cannot stick to your time table.

Not on this.

I am not planning on having a divorce pity party, but this shit has been simmering inside and it is starting to spill over the edges.

Today is one of the days I give in to this slimy shitty monster that seems to consume me on every level.  One of my many problems is that I get stuck in the detail.  A word, the way it is phrased, the way it is used.  Cuts.  Brutally.

>>>>>>>>>>>>> Being divorced from.

I realise this is semantics.  But semantics are important.

I did not do the divorcing.  I did not agree with the divorcing.  The divorcing was foisted on me.

I went through all the phases of denial, disbelief, cry to your mom on the phone, see if there is a chance that alcohol consumed in vast quantities will actually kill you, and every other way I thought could or would work to move into the acceptance mode and out of the “what the fuck just happened there?”

I was wrong.  None of the other ideas worked when one of the parties has made a decision.

We are not talking about choosing a paint colour for the en-suite we are talking about dismantling a life of twenty years and change.

I am still not sure which was the part that cut me the deepest.

Actually I kn0w. I just like to appear deep and soulful as if I have to bring up the memory.

There was the”I want a divorce” speech monologue, which actually did not have much in it, other than a killer fucking punch line.

Talk about stopping the world turning on it’s axis stuff.

Yes, very “show stopping” …. there was not too much in it of content.  But when you have an opening line like that, everything else becomes unnecessary.

Once that sunk in I could literally feel my teeth aching individually in my gums.

I am not sure when the next “big” announcement arrived, and I really cannot recall the exact situation, but the main thrust of it was: “I wanted to ask for a divorce last year, but then you had that mix up with your medication, and I thought I would leave it to see how it went……”

The key line here that carries the punch is “I wanted to ask for a divorce last year………” sorry, what again?

So not only have I been rebounding for the last few days/weeks with your big announcement but now you tell me that you have been THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR A FUCKING YEAR!!!

Listen I am seldom surprised.

The problem with anxiety disorder is that you are always thinking of every outcome and then every permutation, and then living through each of them.  The result is when I see a kangaroo steal a banana from a flower seller, and hop over a fence, part of me is thinking, yep, I saw that happening.

BEING DIVORCED FROM is really no fucking picnic when it comes to processing the information and trying to deal with it, so your fucking head does not explode.

Let me tell you when your other half tells you that he has thinking about this for a year —- an entire fucking year — and then you add that to the reasons who your head could fucking pop, it is a wonder that you managed to actually survive that moment.  Or that day.  Or appear normal in front of the kids.

It was a devastating blow.  I am not sure if it was meant to cripple and maim, but power to the people, that shit did massive massive damage.

I wonder about these things.

How someone feels when they drop a bomb, and whether they feel the same intensity of aftershock that you feel when you heard the information for the first time?

I must confess this particular “nugget” of : I was going to do this last year, but when the chemist fucked up your meds,  I thought I would wait it out and see if you got any better to remain married to…… was quite a lot to take on board.

I can tell you there is just no way you can be prepared for the blast of that information.

There is just no way to cushion the impact, when you have already been beaten and fucking mauled.

I am not suggesting that it might have been best if he just kept that shit bag to himself, but I am suggesting that that piece of information did nothing for me what so ever.

I wasn’t like “well, its great you gave this another year buddy, thanks man …..” or any other similar thinking.  I just kept going YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS A YEAR AGO ……. A FUCKING YEAR!!!! AGO!

I still use the label to describe myself “I was divorced from…” it conjures up a lot of emotion of not being good enough, not having worth, being the one that did something wrong, being the responsible party who could not hold this shit together.

>>>>>>>>>>>>> Being divorced from.

I know it is not a helpful title, and I know that I should discard it and not give it any more power over me.

I know that.

I know. That.

I. Know. That.

It unfortunately does not stop it denting my self esteem, my sense of self and how I value and view myself.  And having it run around in my head, bouncing off the edges – especially when I have suffered some emotional blow is debilitating.

I know it is not a helpful title.

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Shit about divorce that you forget is coming …. this might be part one of a whole fucking series …. so brace yourself

I cannot explain the profound effect that this divorce has had on me.

It has changed something about me.  I appear to have lost my muchness.

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Initially I got caught up in the spreadsheet nature of this divorce.

Who would take what and who would get left with what.

Why Kennith wanting to take the red carpet would prove to be so upsetting.  And a thousand other things which now appear minuscule, but at the time it felt like my life was being wrenched apart

I often listen the The Script, and this line from one of their songs always resonates with me “I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing, just prayin’ to a god that I don’t believe in. ‘Cause I got time while she got freedom, ’cause when a heart breaks, no, it don’t break even.”

{swapping the he for her and so on….}

I am not “over” this divorce.   I keep thinking I am.  Or I have got over the worst of it.  But there are too many reminders that I am still struggling with this fucking beast.

It is actually like time makes it worse.  Time softens the edges of the things you thought you would cut your wrists on, but brings the things that you feel are going to crush you into sharp focus.

I think time reveals things you did not realise you needed to factor into this thing called divorce.

And then you are put into a situation and faced with something that makes you realise that you are not coping.  You have a semblance of coping, you might even look like you are skipping down the hill with the Trapp Family close at your heels.

But then something will come and remind you that this shit is not over.  Not by a long shot mate!

My most harrowing day of the year, was a wedding I attended in February.

It is a cousin of Kennith’s.

I have always had a close relationship with Thelma, her husband and her children.  During the relationship and after the relationship, I would stay over there often, pop in to see them and it was all really great.  I easily saw them socially once a month and Thelma and I taught many bottles of wine a lesson in what an hostage drama would look like.

Thelma and Zef had planned a Vow Renewal Ceremony and I was feeling very nervous about the day.

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Everyone was going to be in the same room, there was going to be this awkwardness (mine, I figured no one else would give a continental).

I really wanted it to be a wonderful day for Thelma and Zef, but I wanted to get through it without any more bleeding than I felt was probably going to occur.  On my part.

I took my partner W with and I had the three children with me.

The venue was the One and Only which is gorgeous.  The weather was on the side of baking, but everything was beautiful.

I could not quite put my finger on it what it was that I was so nervous about.

Maybe it was the thought of having to be introduced to Kennith’s partner ……. yeh, I am not ready for that.  Excuse me whilst I go and cower in the toilets.  See how much of a grown up I can be?

By the time I got there I had already worked myself up into a bit of a lather.  You know the moment when you are just one missing button from a full scale melt-down.  Like that.

Then it hit me.  And it hit me.  And then it just continued to hit me for what seemed like a very long time – I knew what the thing was that I was “fearing” the most.

I had been axed as a family member.  Through no fault of my own.

Kennith’s extended family was there and to be honest few, if any of them had reached out to me when Kennith asked for a divorce and he moved out.  And it really hurt. And this would be the first time I was seeing many of them.

I just disappeared.  Instantly from everyone’s consciousness.

I had (more often times than not) been the instigator in getting everyone together and making sure we kept regular contact with Kennith’s family.

I was now at a function that had clearly demarcated lines of “family” and “not family.”

It started with his family being together on one side and the other rabble being close to the bar.  I realised as I walked in to the room, that though I would naturally walk over to “the family” and say “hello” this was not going to happen.

In short Kennith was the MC so his partner was sitting with the “family.”  I sometimes think I have steel gonads, but not even I would venture into this without some sort of head injury.

I got that “cotton ball sort of feeling in your throat” as I summed up what was happening, and it just made me feel uneasy.  And there was no way I was going to drift over there and swan around saying “helllooooooo” to everyone.

It did not help when Kennith came over and told me the kids should sit in a certain section of the “ceremony area” where the “family” was sitting.  And I would be in the “other section…”

And so this “family” thing persisted for the balance of the evening.

Eventually I tried to “rise above” just fucking “rise above this shit” but these people were “my family” for the last 20 fucking years.  Then in one swoop, none of my doing, I get kicked off the “table.”

I do not have a big family – so it was nice to get a larger family from Kennith’s side to bulk up the numbers where mine sort of fell flat.

The evening proved to be excruciating.  I could have happily gone to sit in the bathroom and spent the evening crying.

Instead I took a stab at looking like I was having the best time imaginable.  I did my utmost to do 5 glasses of soda water for every 1 glass of wine, or I was pretty sure this evening was going to end in me having a “moment…”

One of the nicest and sweetest things that was Kennith’s grandmother’s husband – Kennith grandmother had passed away a few years back – came and asked to dance with me.  So for a song we danced together, I probably stood on his feet the majority of the time, but it was really such a sweet gesture.

Divorce.

Being excommunicated from “the family” and this really horrible feeling of not knowing where you stand is just shit.

I had spent years developing some of these relationships and “poof” there I was, not quite being invited to the family photograph.

I know I am not expressing myself correctly.

I think if I was drinking wine and not hot chocolate I probably may be able to word this better – with some really descriptive words and probably a bit more fucks than I am using right now.

It is this profound sense of rejection that the day represented for me.  And the realisation of what I thought I felt, to what was in actual fact reality.

This sense that all the time and energy I put into these relationships for the better part of my adult life have disintegrated into nothing.  Gone.  And I could basically just fuck off, but to leave the children because they were family.

The message is clear.  This is not my family.  These people do not give a flying fek about me.

Which of course makes me start to wonder, what the hell was it that went on for two decades there?

During a divorce you worry and fret about a lot of things, but the family you will lose usually does not come into the equation.  Or maybe it does, and I just did not buy the right “What to expect ….. when you are getting divorced from” book.

Yeah, so there is that.

Right now I am in a “just fuck it all frame of mind…”  I ap0logise for the frequent use of the word FUCK moving forward.  I don’t actually, but I want to sound like a courteous host.

When you try to shove your life into boxes …..

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Packing up a house easily rates as one of my least favourite past times.

I have been able to get out of it for the last 4 – 5 moves. I pretty much outsourced all packing and unpacking and went with the philosophy that I did not matter where something was unpacked as long as that I was not that someone doing the unpacking.

Unfortunately this time around it needed a lot of sorting and then packing.

The sorting became where all the time was spent.  I had little flashes of “Hoarders” as I rummaged through boxes with old diaries and paperwork, and tried to make the choice of whether to keep or to toss.

I did get a bit more brutal as the hours ticked by.

I spent a lot of time sorting out the garage – the garage had become the storage place of “all the shit we did not know what do do with” and there was quite a lot of stuff to sort through.

There were a lot of boxes that I had not opened since I had moved into this house.

A large part of the interior of the house was painted early last year and I had packed up all the pictures, books and ornaments .  I had to open each box and go through them to see what to keep, and what to toss – the packing was done to get the items out of the way of the painters, and there was no thinking in terms of what would go where and to which type of storage.

Here is the part I did not expect to find.

The life that Kennith and I had.

I found photographs, cards, letters and various other remnants of our life together.

I found the memories of our life in boxes.  In the garage.

Much of it I had forgotten – as you do.  I am not sure if it is just me, but the problem with Divorce – other than it sucking maggot dick, is that it focuses all your attention on the end part.

The part where he says “I want a divorce” and where you do not hear him and carry on talking about the dog.  Until he has to repeat himself and then you start realising that we are not talking about the dog.

My entire being has been trapped in that moment.  From that moment until this moment. That is where I have lived for the last two years or so.

I have existed in THIS space.

I saw photographs in the boxes that reminded me that we had a rich and gorgeous life.

We were happy people, with a lot of interests and things that drove us.  We did stuff, we went away for weekends, we spoke about all sort of things – we did things together, we showed dogs and we loved our dogs.

We had a life.

We had a happy life.

We had a life that was packed with memories.  And stuff.  And things.

I had forgotten it all, because I have been trapped in THIS.

This that is happening RIGHT NOW.

I won’t lie to you.  Moving out of my home, so that Kennith can move in and live with the children is my equivalent of bobbing.

I am not drowning. I am not furiously trying to kick my legs to stay afloat. I am just bobbing.

On the surface.  Face up, the rest of me under the water.

My ability to swim, to try to get anywhere has just evaporated.

I just bob and remain afloat.

Every now and then I get a mouthful of sea water and need to really cough up a lung to breath.  For the most part my eyes are red, and I am weary to the bone.  Tired and cold.

I desperately want people to circle around me and give me support.

I desperately want everyone to go away and just leave me alone.

I want to be with people so I do not feel so alone, so worried, so scared and such a desperate mess.

I want to not see anyone so that I can feel alone, worried and scared without having to give the impression of a “stiff upper lip.”  I want to be my desperate mess without people asking me why my makeup is smudged and my eyes are so red.

Hayfever.  I say. {I don’t suffer from hayfever, but if you give a half way plausible response, most people are happy to leave it at that}

I cannot describe how painful this packing is.  This move is.

I daily question my decision making.  I daily wake up feeling like shit before the day has even started. I heave myself out of bed.

Get vertical.  All you have to do is get vertical, everything else will follow.

I promise you — just get vertical.

I try and fill the hole with marshmallow easter eggs – 20 does not fill the hole, but it does make you feel violently ill a bit later.

I daily feel a panic attack coming on, which I manage to divert by going to lie on my bed and fall into a deep coma like sleep – or just sit and stare into space.

I find car parks are the best for this – no one bothers you and no one comes to ask you anything, you can sit in your car and just zone out.

I know what depression feels like – for me depression has always been a chemical issue.

It would not matter what is happening in my life, when depression came along, I could have just discovered the only true living unicorn who farted glitter and it would still make me feel flat …. absolutely flat.

This is a bit like depression …. but this is more despair, this is more brutal sadness, confusion and worry.

Nothing makes sense, everything feels like it is a right old fcuk up.

I am going through the motions of packing and getting my life ready to move out – to move away from my children.

There is nothing good happening here.

The problem is I am upset.  I take out my being upset and my confusion on the children, which is not exactly the image I wanted to leave with them.

But when they are asleep, I go and tell them how sorry I am and stroke their foreheads a bit.

Tell me again who said being an adult was going to be fun?

 

close to drowning

 

Moving out, big girl decisions and big girl panties …..

This year has brought some new challenges and changes – which have been dragged in from 2015.

I would love to tell you I am embracing them and it is making me a stronger wiser person, but then I think, yeah fuck that, please can we go back to the old way, I am really tired of this adult shit.

It seems not.  The number they said I could phone is not being answered and the message box is full.

In summary here is what has changed and what changes are happening:

One:  Kennith and I continue to try our best to be civil to one another – it really is hard work trying to always communicate well, and to not stand swearing on the driveway with spittle on your chin.  It’s hard to keep up this entire “co parenting, co decision makers” vibe.

Two:  The house I am living in is the house that belongs to Kennith and I – the aim was to have the house on the market, and the house to sell – we would divvy up the proceeds and everyone would go off and do what they wanted.

Three:  For several reasons this house has not sold – but the area we live in is not known for fast house sales, it is just one of those suburbs where property does not move at an overnight rate.

Four:  I made a very stark realistation, that could no longer afford to live in this house (it is a large home and has upkeep and the running costs of a home this size tend to get a bit overwhelming eventually).

Five:  I started to panic around that and then I made the next realisation that right now I cannot afford to live in this house and if I moved out, where the hell would I go – and if I moved I would not have money out of the house (as it is not sold) and then where would I go with three children, and financially be able to keep up any semblance of our existing lives?

Six:  I worked through several permutations, and in each I tried to use the principle that the children would remain with me.

Seven:  The decision making flow chart that followed from there ended up not looking dissimilar from this — if you do not include the smudgy parts caused by tears and wine condensation running off the glass and making it’s own set of splotches.

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Eight:  I realised (not quickly — but eventually after trying every possible combination) that it was not possible for me to live with the children.

Nine:  That realisation was not the most pleasant one I have had — and accepting it as the new reality was a very bitter pill to swallow.

Ten:  In short – the decision at the moment is that Kennith has given notice on the place where he lives. I will be packing up my stuff in the house and moving out in the last week of February.  The children will remain in the house.  Their stuff will remain as is – so there is very little in the way of things that will change in their world.

Eleven:  Kennith will move into the house in the last week of February, and I will move out.

Twelve:  Kennith and I will swap roles – we have a schedule of who takes to school and who drops off, and which days the kids are with whom.  This has been in place for about 18 months – and it works quite well.  I am lucky as I work for myself and this allows me flexibility, so if Kennith is away or has a work commitment I can pick up the slack.

Thirteen:  In terms of what will happen with the house that is still up in the air.  We have decided is a secondary issue to this one, which is swapping who lives with the kids, and in a few months time we can relook at how to proceed with the house (rent it out, one of us purchase it, or put it back on the market).

I was freaking out in December, the first two weeks or so of January 2016 had be on the verge of a total “poes” collapse.

Then I calmed down — I am not sure why, or how — I just calmed down.  A bit.

I do not feel so threatened, my anxiety about “losing my kids” has reduced, and in general I am in a much calmer state than I was a week or so ago.

I am trying not to think too hard about the kids, and the house, me moving out and and and ….. I am going with the never EVER been used philosophy for me of “what will be, will be….”

People, that is where things are at the moment.

It has not been an easy decision.

At a point it came down to the reality that this was the best decision, and actually in reality the only decision I had available, that would not put me in one bedroom flat, in a less than favourable neighbourhood with three children, a dog and a cat.

Decision has been made.  Now it is a case of just getting my head into the space of moving out —– and trying not to lose my shit too much.

{I really get anxious when there are changes on the home front – I can adjust to changes in other areas of my life, because I know when I get home, everything will be as I left it — so this change does make me feel a bit panicky, anxious and stressed.}

Anyway.  It is what it is.

 

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Yes, and some days it is just shit-a-holla ….

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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.

 

Oh for fox sake …..

I have really been struggling to sit down and compose a blog post that I actually publish.

I have written dozens of “almost posts” and jotted down all sorts of shit and stuff — but I have not got to the point where I feel comfortable to post anything.

There is a lot of things running around in my head at the moment.

To be blatantly honest most of the things that are creating noise is me trying to adjust to this new life being a “divorced person” in a relationship that is over, and all the fine details hat comes along with that.

Getting divorced is pretty easy.

Being divorced is a bit of a fucking dog show, without the dogs, but with all the shit left on the field.

In the bigger picture I have been struggling with what I can talk about publicly and what I should hold close to my chest.

I am not a big fan of airing dirty laundry, and there is seldom a way to do it in a healthy manner.

At the moment I feel quite raw, exposed and vulnerable.  All the usual bravado that I try to wear as a protection is seriously dented and lacking.

I keep thinking okay I will write about “that” and then when I start to jot down some words, and those words form sentences, and now and then paragraphs, then I look at it and go “no, I can’t put that out there….”

Then I sit there quietly as the inside of me is this bubbling chaotic space, and my mind feels like it is being knocked around inside my skull.

The part I used to love about blogging – is now the thing I am struggling to remain true to.  I have always believed that you should blog what you feel, blog what you think — what you really think — blog with honesty and integrity – ignore who you think may read your posts.

I do not blog for the people who read my blog, that has always been a slippery slope to venture along.  I prefer to blog and ignore who may or may not read it.

It sounds selfish, but for me it is the backbone of what I love about blogging.  And what I love about reading some bloggers work.  Honesty, and blogging for the sake of writing what is running around inside your head.

Today was a difficult day.  I felt really gutted today. I felt a bit beaten up.

I felt a bit like life had taken me by the gonads (yes I imagine I might have them on some days) and swung me around so that my head kept hitting the wall of the very small square imaginary room I felt I was in.

It’s 12:10 am, the day is at it’s end.  Thank fuck!!!

I have spent the better part of the last 5 hours covering school books.  That wasn’t the reason for the stress, and mental confusion – it was actually the task that kept me focussed and prevented me “going off the deep end.”

I took some time out and went to sit outside – it is a lovely evening weather wise, and stared up at the stars, sipped my wine and thought duckety fuck, duckety fucking fuck!!!

Then I stood up, brushed some of the dirt off my pants, and thought “bitch, get your shit together, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, you do not need this level of kak …. and you need to go and pour yourself some more wine, because you have bought some crazy arse beautiful wine glasses …..”

And then I said “fuck yes!”

oh for fox