It is amazing what a difference three weeks can make. Do I wish I never found out about the cheating? Nope. Not really. Do I hurt every day with him gone from my life? Yes. Of course I do.
It is the little things- for example- I can’t seem to put towels away without creating a jumbled mess and I can’t stand to eat peanut butter anymore. It sucks that the person that causes all my pain and the one I wish could comfort me are the one and the same. It sucks that I loathe to cook for one and already have all the stuff to make his favorite meals- Kielbasa and sauerkraut (blech) and chick n’ dumplings, dirrrrty rice- all of which are “man food” and none of which are currently on the misery diet. I’ll be donating to the food bank soon.
He keeps gently prodding, asking to see me (I haven’t relented and haven’t seen him since the morning I left for work, the morning when the bottom dropped out of my life.) He leaves me very sweet cards, picks me wild flowers, leaves things for the kitties all to make sure I don’t forget about him.
You know what I want? I wish I could have one day without pain, one day without anger. I think that all this anger is going to give me cancer if I don’t figure out where to put it.
At this particular moment I simply can not trust a man whose words and actions have been in such opposition. I recall each lie with terrible accuracy. I recall how close I was on so many occasions to discovering that something was going on and how he made me feel like a paranoid shrew.
It will be his actions that speak to me, if anything can reach me. Dear lord, only three more days until I can see my therapist. I’m still just too angry for words. He says that he hopes that something good will come of this, excuse me if I can’t see the good quite yet in whoring about with some trashy ignorant bitch. He says he prefers lemonade to lemons.
I say, whores aren’t lemons.
