Gut Rumbles
 

January 19, 2007

Break another little bit of my heart, now darlin'

Originally published May 25, 2002

My young man has fallen out on me. He is asleep, after a grand evening of fun and games with his friends. I just left his bedroom, where I laid my hand on his chest and felt him breathe while I gazed at his handsome face and wished that I had more time with him. I don't appreciate the fact that a bloodless cunt can unilaterally decide that she prefers another man in her bed, screw him behind my back just to make sure, then take me to court and rake me over the coals, have the divorce become final while I am laying like a butchered piece of meat in a hospital bed, and walk away with everything I ever cared about in my life. But the divorce laws of Georgia are set up that way.

Women are victims of society? Bullshit! My bloodless cunt built a revolving door before she made her ultimate move. She tossed me out, moved him in, and never missed a beat in between. One week earlier, we discussed the possibility that I might have prostate cancer. I was waiting on the results of the biopsy (Siso-- you hate details? I could curl your teeth with that story) and she said, "Poof. Rob, you don't have cancer." So, she threw most of my clothes in my truck, packed my other stuff in boxes and filed divorce papers while the dope-smoking lover moved into my home. When I discovered, one week later, that I DID have cancer, she said, "oh, I'm sorry," with all the heartfelt emotion one would expect if I had said "I just lost my Bic cigarette lighter."

I'll never understand that crap if I live to be as old as my grandmother. (When the shit hit the fan, Mommie said,"I always knew she was a bitch, but I thought she was more of a lady than that." The cunt fooled the wisest woman I know.)

I thought she was my partner, my lover and my BEST FRIEND. Obviously, I was delusional. Now, eight months later, I lay my hand on my son's chest, watch him sleep and wonder how HE feels about it all. He made year-long honor roll in school. The babysitter who tends him in the afternoons says he is a wonderful, smart, well-behaved boy. He is all of that and more. He is MY SON!

And I have "visitation" every other week. That unemployed, dope-smoking, hepatitus-C positive (I am NOT making that up) bastard my ex-cunt chose for fresh dick spends more time with my son than I do, and I am not one bit happy about that. If the cunt was going to take a lover, I wish she had aimed a little higher than she did. She is a member of the "Executive Management Team" at work, and she probably will rise higher in the ranks. Still, I would much rather my son grow up to be like ME rather than her, and I certainly hope he turns out better than HIM. I hope my son develops a small streak of integrity, which he will not find in his current environment.

Yeah, HEATHER [Ed. link goes to her May 2002 archives.] I give too many details sometimes. But it's MY blog, MY life and I can screw both up all I want to.

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