Mmmmm. What can I say about this morning? I woke up feeling okay (that’s rare) as I knew I had done a good job on two assignments this week (one result back already A+, yuss!) and one pass job on …… well, you know, I DID just post about it last night. And I have nothing due for four whole weeks! (Semester break after the end of next week – woohoo!) Mr Suck-The-Life-Out-Of-Me fucked my morning. As I was posting last night, he was peering over my shoulder. That was weird. And uncomfortable. He read the beginning of the post.
Then this morning, I was up at 4.00am. (I haven’t been sleeping well again, you wanna set up camp in the sleeping bags under my eyes?) And I got up and had a cup of tea, and then fed the orphaned lamb, very originally named, “Lambie.” (Usually I have several awaiting foster mums, and they all get names, this one has been a loner for a while, and I never got around to naming him, poor little sausage.) Then he came in, and started a conversation.
It didn’t go well.
He has been reading my blog – so (raspberry noises here, flipping the bird – is that American enough?) to you, dickhead – and never told me. What a fucktard. I mean, I don’t care that he reads, but really, why not tell me? He has obviously learned nothing.
Then he offered his fabulous, important opinion.
He told me I am a bitter person, and that I am sharing far too much of other people’s lives and being far too judgemental. That I need to stop.
Yeah, because he didn’t share anything, Mr-Fucking-Perfect. If he thinks I am such a chump that I don’t know that although I was hardly topic-of-the-day while he filled her right up with his genitalia and semen, my life was “shared” with a whore. And I had no say. I had no way of protecting myself, my image, my privacy, my body, my health, my children’s future. He shared me with her, even if he thinks he didn’t. I admit it, I fucking cried. Hope he was happy with his result, more fucking tears from his push button crier these days. Good job. You’re a champion.
So, Nephila, I am now a vitriolic bitch, are you proud of me? I fucking am.
Of course I am “bitter” – that is the whole fucking point of blogging. To bleed the poison out. And if, as he insisted (he of the “how do you turn on the computer” persuasion) the people involved find my blog? #Whogivesafuck!!!