Lemon juice & salt

And as if dealing with the insecurities from the previous post weren’t enough, the teenager has decided it’s a good time to take a stand on being a complete fucking moron. Friday a.m. is going to be some fun times.

In the meantime, referencing the other post..I feel like a quivering mass of exposed skin, not bleeding but completely raw, so much so that the air stings, cheese grated and rubbed down with salt and lemon juice.

I just want to curl up and sleep.

Instead, I’ve got my happy professional face on. No makeup today..just in case. Random outbursts of tears (in the bathroom, of course!) aren’t as visible if you aren’t correcting makeup.

Lemon juice & salt

Stream of Conciousness

Completely random; freethinking type.

There are wounds that never heal. The phrase, time heals all wounds? It’s total bullshit. Time can numb a wound, to be sure, but it doesn’t completely fade. Under the layers of time, the scab is still there, still accessible by the random word, a text, a thought trigger. I spend so much time keeping my thoughts clear, and resisting my natural impulses to destroy my life, that it is exhausting. Then, of course, when I’ve been absent from my running, from pushing myself to the physically exhausted point, the text shows up. Just instantaneous shredding of the scabbed over wound, which is far deeper than it appears on the surface.

You can forgive someone’s actions, and still be pissed off when someone reminds you of them.  You can forgive someone and still want to punch them in the goddamn kidneys when you see a text from the person who assisted in causing so much pain and havoc on your life. Since I have not been running, due to renovating the entire goddamn house, I was unexpectedly vulnerable and unprepared for any kind of attack. Which is what it felt like, although it was not intended for me. I feel like warning the girl, there is only so far I can be pushed. If you continue to contact my husband, four years later, there is going to be a snapping point where I just lose my shit. You are not a minor anymore, as you were four years ago. I can break your goddamned face and there is nothing you can do about it, because I will be accounted for in another location. The urge to wish such dark, dark things on this girl is overwhelming. I don’t bother actively hating her. I pity her, because she has no idea who my husband really is.

A few months? Oh, honey, of course what you had was rare. Of course it was. Clandestine sneaking around is always exciting, and romantic, and a complete and total rush, which is what my ADHD husband was completely addicted to. You know how he tells you, of course he still loves you and always will? It’s because you didn’t have a long term relationship with him. You didn’t deal with him full time, for years and years, when the façade fades, handle him and his children and the chaos he brings to everything in sight. You know what real love is? It’s fucking surviving him, and his chaos, and his willful self-destruction of everything you both worked your asses off to build. It’s seeing him blowing up his life and by extension yours, and being there to help him pick the pieces up and rebuild it together. Stronger than before. You can take your quote about him settling for second best, and shove it. He doesn’t settle. I am not second best. You were a fucking dalliance, one of several that were happening, and he had trouble just staying focused on you and your “relationship” as brief as it was. Being out in the open for what, two months? And then he was back at home, as we struggled through the damage he had done.

He refers to you as poison. Toxic. Something that wants to destroy what he has built and oh yes, there is a side of him indeed that would go right along with it, but he has that under better control now than he did four years ago. He made his choice. He is happier now. We have a life. Love. Family. A home. Keep fucking moving, you monstrous whore. He isn’t the type to settle, and neither am I. If I didn’t think we were worth saving, I would have handed him off to you, and he would have already left you for someone else. You are too young, and too dumb, to keep his interest.

There is a story that resonated with me so strongly that for a week or two I wondered whether I might actually be a sociopath. Gone Girl –I identified so strongly with Amy. Not so much in the rich girl consistent stalker way, but in the way she thought. Her analysis of other people, the way they fall short. When they are fighting, at the end, and she says, “I’m the bitch who makes you better, Nick”…I got it. In the audio book you can hear the venom in her voice when she spits it at him-and it’s totally true.

Here, let me explain it using quotes I’ve pulled off of GoodReads and can interpret according to my own thoughts.

There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)” 

This is true. My own husband has proved this to me—because technically, I have grown up into a “strong woman” who doesn’t need him—I love him, and I want to stay married and have a life together, but it isn’t required. The first time I heard this in the audio (which I read after we’d gotten back together) it felt like a punch in the gut.

This? Friends see most of each other’s flaws. Spouses see every awful last bit.

Sub out “girlfriend” for Friends and you’ve got what I was trying to explain to his 20yr old (now 24) girlfriend. Long term, spouses, is so different than just a relationship or living together. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve been there.

And here: Loving her made me superhuman, it made me feel alive. At her easiest, she was hard, because her brain was always working, working, working— I had to exert myself just to keep pace with her. I’d spend an hour crafting a casual email to her, I became a student of arcana so I could keep her interested: the Lake poets, the code duello, the French Revolution. her mind was both wide and deep, and I got smarter being with her. and more considerate, and more active and more alive, and almost electric, because for Amy, love was like drugs or booze or porn: There was no plateau. Each exposure needed to be more intense than the last to achieve the same result. 
Amy made me believe that I was exceptional, that I was up to her level of play. That was both our making and undoing. Because I couldn’t handle the demands of greatness. I began craving ease and averageness, and I hated myself for it, and ultimately, I realized, I punished her for it. I turned her into the brittle, prickly thing she became. I had pretended to be one kind of man and revealed myself to be quite another. 

It’s true. I feel that I do this for B; he does it for me. We are both smart; he is incredibly brilliant, but luckily slightly slowed by his distraction thanks to ADHD. When I can fucking focus, and apply myself, I freak myself out with my skill and intelligence. And I don’t mean that in a bragging way, either. I mean it in a surprised way, as I was always the girl who was just there as eye candy, quietly reading random Stephen King novels and looking good on the arm of the shallow, selfish dickhead she was dating at the time. The guys I dated didn’t want a smart girl. They wanted Cool Girl. I gave it to them (minus the anal sex/hot dog chili dog thing, no thanks)I gave them a silent, pretty toy to bring out and show off, who could make random conversation with their stoner buddies as needed. I didn’t find out I was actually smart until I forced myself through my fear and started college—and then it all became clear, because what was hard for everyone else was easy for me, and it has continued to be so. I haven’t finished college, but that’s more a lack of funding than anything else. This Girl, the one who keeps trying to come between us, that randomly messages any time her current relationship falls through? She didn’t even know that Rhode Island was in the United States. She is basically an ignorant So MD girl, She looks it, too.

“You do realize, that if you actually dated her, saw her on a regular basis, lived with her, that she would find some fault with you, right? That she would find some things about you that drove her crazy. That she’d make demands of you that you wouldn’t like. That she’d get angry at you?

So true. And she would lose the shine of a sparkly new object. I know it is true because he has no filter, and in addition to telling me far too much about their relationship he told me he almost slept with two hostesses while I had kicked him out and he was living in his car, dating her. I mean, at that point. Does it matter? How much do you really love her? How much can you love someone when you come home to your wife and say to her, “You’ve never done anything to make me ashamed of you. Thank you.” At the time I was just like, whatever, but I get it now. I am not a lying, crazy, willing to fuck my way to feeling better sleaze. And my problem with her isn’t her having sex with loads of dudes. It’s that she pulled the rape card when she banged someone else to draw him in and show her as damaged goods because she had figured out that was what he wanted. And I don’t think she’d be okay with him as he is now—still not recovered from the surgery, still not able to work out, randomly angry and attacking. There is so much more to him as well but he isn’t the same healthy random 30 year old he was when he found her. And sometimes it had to be hard for her—he had told me he said to her once if he spent as much time with me and making an effort into our relationship as he spent with her, we never would have separated to begin with. That he loves me, that I am in fact, beautiful (Im not, Im really odd looking) and we have the tie of the children along with the tie of “us”. Something inexplicable. I have no pity for her. I try and smother the hatred I have because I know it is
‘like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die’ but it’s hard to stop.

Something that survived his destruction and my craziness and doubt and has been forged stronger than it ever was before—I wouldn’t say it is unbreakable but I’d say it’s definitely reinforced. Love her if you like, from a distance, because I know you love me more, since you are here, with me, every day.

Because you can’t be as in love as we were and not have it invade your bone marrow. Our kind of love can go into remission, but it’s always waiting to return. Like the world’s sweetest cancer.

He and I made it through our toxic phase, our destructive phase. We don’t settle. I’m not going to waste my life fucking settling for someone who doesn’t make me happy, and I don’t want him to either. He is here because he wants to be…not because he’s obligated to be.

Now if in five years we’re divorced and he’s living with her, I will recant this as the drivel it might be. But it suits how I feel today, and the way that I think.

I would find a replacement. It wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t be able to be myself. I wouldn’t be able to tell this person the truth. But I could in fact find someone else. Quickly. Not as quickly as he would, because he is a dude and there is no shortage of stupid women out there, and he apparently no longer has the insanely high standards I once credited him with.

I like to think he and I are going to make it. We have been together for 12 years, married for 11. There was a three/four year patch where things went bad, then destructed. There is a line from an Eminem song—{maybe that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano/all I know is I love you too much to walk away though} –and that was where we were. The first year we spent back together was insanely hard. No trust, no nothing. It was like a battlefield. It got easier. We changed and adapted and worked towards what we wanted our lives to be together.


Sadly, it isn’t something you can just switch off. Even if we split forever I would still love him, probably as much as I would hate him. But then again—to quote Dr. Who from two weeks ago.

“Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”

No, darling. I don’t. And I know you feel the same.

Stream of Conciousness

Random weird facts

Here are some completely random facts that I know for sure:

-The absolute best place to pluck your eyebrows is in your car, using the rearview mirror or the one on your sun visor. No matter WHAT the weather is doing, the light is 100% better than it is inside.

-Mascara works just as good on eyebrows and saves the hassle of penciling them in, which I would never do anyway, but I know some people are into that kind of thing.

-Organic Virgin Coconut Oil is good for lots of things besides your makeup routine. Think about it.

-If your eyebrows are awesome, you don’t need eye makeup. Seriously. All anyone really notices is your eyebrows. Or at least that’s been the case for me.

-don’t pick your face. Its so tempting. But don’t. One day I will master this skill myself. Not today.

Hrm….that’s all I’ve got for now. Besides the fact that acetone gets sharpie off almost everything and goo gone removes price tag stickers.

What do ya’ll got??

Random weird facts


Scribbled down last night while driving home from the gym:

No title

Why do I run?

to shut down my


to clear my head

to get past the hate that

randomly bubbles up &

threatens to choke me

to push past myself

and just be.

to silence all the doubt

the shrieking, screaming Fury that

wants out

so she can rip to shreds

what I’ve recovered

rebuilt of my life

/destruction is her favorite/

It is the sickly sweet, saccharine taste

crumbling to dust in my mouth

the aftermath of chaos unleashed

with nothing left to rebuild

only then is

her voice silenced, my head clear

broken, but at peace