If I pray for the Devils highest good, does God still hear my calls? Or am I just another schmuck on her knees begging to be relieved of a hatred that runs so deeply in my veins that it could easily cause my blood to mutate into vinegar? SOL might just be the death of me. D is like a poison that does not have to be ingested in order for it to kill. All I have to do is look at that woman, as she tells me how disposable I am, how I'm a dime a dozen and how she could replace me in an instant and care less about it and I can feel her penetrate my skin. I am not thick skinned, I suppose this is what separates me from them. Deep down I want to curl up and cry every time she yells at me and tells me, in her own special way, what a disgusting piece of shit I really am. It's my fault, a graceful, strong woman would laugh it all off, but not me. I sit back and fantasize about how I hope to one day rub dog shit all over her white Mercedes, right before I tie her to a stake fabricated out of her poodle's bones and burn her alive. So I pray for her highest good and then I pray that God will relieve me of my fears that I'm not good enough and replace them with the thoughts that She would have me hold. These are the directions given to me. I've grown to believe in miracles. Not the kind that shake the surface of the earth, but the little ones that, in the long run, have a lasting effect. The ones that have caused a shift in my thinking and in my way of life; the ones that fill my lungs with fresh, beautiful air and leave me feeling peaceful in a way I was never familiar with until now.
Maybe D will my next miracle. Maybe I will no longer be afraid of her. Maybe I will find myself filled with enough love to dismiss her pettiness and cruelty. Until then, I think I'll bury myself in Vegan peanut butter cookies and historical fiction. Funny thing, I bought these fabulous cookies 3 days ago, this was day one of my period. I had terrible cramps, couldn't stop crying and all I could think about was chocolate. So I compromised and bought Uncle Eddies Naturally Sweetened Vegan Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies. These were just what my uterus ordered. So after indulging in 3 of them I decided to throw the rest away so I would not be tempted any further. Well, the following day, I still felt as if my period needed a little more attention, I mean, we do burn twice as many calories and I am losing a lot of blood, plus, I had been through quite a fiasco, with my boss being a sadistic ass pirate, so I decided that, since the cookies were still in a plastic bag, which were then stored in a paper bag, there was no harm in taking them back out of the garbage and indulging in just a few more, 4 to be exact. After taking the cookies out of the paper bag, leaving the paper bag in the garbage with the hope that Hunter would not then catch on to my scandalous behaviour, I decided to empty out our balcony ashtray. I then placed the remaining cookies, which were now in the plastic bag, on top of the mound of cigarettes, in the garbage can and went on my merry way. Today, day 3 of my period, I said fuck it, I'm not even going to make excuses, I want a fucking cookie. So, with Hunter at work and me at home, left completely to my own devices, I decided to take the plastic bag with the cookies in them, after they had spent 24 hours now on a mound of cigarette butts in our garbage can, and emptied them onto a paper towel where I decided to inspect them for ashes before I took my first bite. As I took my first bite I tasted something strange, so I took another bite, same problem, so I decided to try a different cookie, you know, cause maybe it was just that particular one, same problem. Yes, my friends, every single one of those little fuckers tasted like a thousand old, stale cigarettes. Once I reached that point of acceptance, I threw them all away, on top of the cigarettes, not protected by a plastic bag, and chugged about 2 glasses of water. I told Hunter about it and he related a story of moral depletion from his drinking days, shamefully I reminded him that I'm 7 years sober. I have no excuse. I warned him that if, in the next few weeks, he sees me make a disgusted face and shake my head a couple times, to not be concerned, that is just me trying to shake off the memory of the cookies. Ugh, in fact I'm doing it right now. I think my next blog will be a list of all the cheap, simple ways you can traumatize yourself.
No comments:
Post a Comment