HA.
And did I mention HA?
Now that I’ve started writing, I don’t really want to finish. I’m PMSing and I fell down hard on my knees today, probably retribution from God for not believing in the Almighty Him. “I’ll Make You Pray, Bitch. Fall Down On Your Knees.” (I imagine God would type capitalizing all of his words, wouldn’t you?)
Anyway, to sum it up, I had a shitty Christmas. For those of you who may remember the Mom and Dad porn/gay/divorce drama a while back, most of the shittiness stemmed from that. No, my mom and dad didn’t fight. They got back together. This, after being separated for a whole two months. My mom is now in codependent denial, thanks to an official affair of my father’s that lit the torch of the jealousy demon.
She called the other day to talk to me about it, knowing full well what I was going to say. The same thing she said to me over a year ago. “Once a cheater, always a cheater." And then I threw in, "If you take him back, he’ll just do it again once the waters have settled and he’s re-restless. If nothing else, you absolutely have to go to counseling. Both of you. Together. Also, you need to make sure you leave me the grand piano in the will.”
Her response? (Well, except for to that grand piano thing, which didn’t really happen. Fooled you.) “Leslie, your dad doesn’t want to go to counseling, and neither do I, mainly because I’m sure there’s nothing a counselor can tell us that will help us in any way. Also, who are you to give me advice …” (keep in mind, she specifically asked me for it) … “when your love life has been a complete mess for years until just recently.”
Thanks, mom. Little does she know. Anywhere you use the word “love” and “life” directly together, it’s a mess. I’m not going to get into what’s going on with me right now, because frankly, I’m at home drinking Grey Goose on a Friday night at 10:32 p.m. while my boyfriend is off pretending to hate some chick that I know gets him hot because she fights back when he’s mean to her. I know it has to turn him on, because that’s why he was attracted to me. And, you know, I could be there, but why bother? If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen, and there ain’t nothing I can or want to do to stop it. If they end up fucking like rabid monkeys, beating each other’s brains out just before climax, then this relationship isn’t meant to be anyway. And I’m cool with that.
Look at how I just digressed.
Anyway, other than that, it’s been pretty okay. Ups and downs. He surprised me last night when I got home with a beautiful, understated and uncomfortably pricey new watch and a bottle of Beyond Paradise (really, you must smell it before you scoff at the name). We had a lovely night. Mostly, it’s relatively lovely. But I’ll have more to say about that later.
Again, I’m suffering from a bad case of digression.
Mom and dad. They were “In Love” (note the capitals, God) all week. My dad was haughty because finally my mom was paying attention to him and not bad-mouthing him to the rest of us, and my mom was too busy swatting his hand away from her ass, giggling like a schoolgirl or grasping his arm for dear godawful life to speak more than two words at a time to my sister and I the entire week.
And during the drive home, after we’d dropped off the kiddo with my ex-husband, I spent six and a half hours in the car with the lovebirds, silently wanting to poke my eyes and eardrums in with something sharp and hot and extremely painful to block out the pain I was already in. The last half-hour stretch home, I had an epiphany about hell. Bear with me, as this is lengthy and involved.
I’m sitting there in the back seat, trying very hard to focus on a crossword puzzle, after having spent six days and nights with aging Romeo et Juliet, having not had a drop of caffeine for over 48 hours (because of altitude sickness), while they intermittently kiss and sing along to Night Moves by Bob Seger, over and over and over and over again, because “haha, Husband, you really do need to learn all of the lyrics to this song.” My dad, by the way, is tone deaf. So I’m aching to get back to my own car, positioned strategically along the interstate so that I can make the next four-hour drive to KC home by myself, knowing that as soon as I get home, I’ll have presents and outstanding sex (both of which I felt like I hadn’t had for years). All in all, it was pain and suffering realized.
And then it hit me, right? So what if time is not real. What if moments in our life really do stretch out into eternity. What if every second of every day is infinite. What if time is a creation of consciousness. Then moments like that? Moments of complete and utter agony, misery and discontent. They must be what hell is. And this is where karma plays a roll. The more hateful and hell-deserving you are, the more karma’s going to fill your life (or lives) with moments like that. So, basically, you’re in hell for eternity for that amount of “time.”
Me, I was in hell for 30 minutes that was DEFINITELY approaching eternity. Bob Seger, you can stop working on the night moves now. Your job is done.
Remember back when I didn’t feel like writing anymore? Haha. Fooled you again.
I’m done now. I’m coming back to this here Diaryland for real here very soon. My life is calming down after the new year, and I really, really do miss this.
Happy holidays, little ones.
Love,
Grinchlie