Anniversaries of Note

A great big, hearty, juicy, extra-crispy FUCK YOU to my first husband on this, the thirteenth anniversary of our first date.



I know damn well what I did to you was wrong. But having said that: You're an ass. Googling me repeatedly and claiming you "just happened" to be looking up the names of tech contacts where I worked--or looking up "debt consolidation" and finding that post I'd written on the credit board. Did you "just happen" to tell your second wife that I was a Nirvana fan and she "just happened" to stumble across me on IM one night and start up a conversation about how influential Kurt was in her life?? Neither of you would understand Cobain if you had his whole psych write-up in your hands, you shallow shits. I was glad when you told me she'd fucked you over, written bad checks on your employer's account, and took off. At least it proved my judgement was correct.



Oh--by the way: JP wanted me to tell you this, a hundred million times over: That last time you fucked me before I left you?? Afterwards, I went into the bathroom and LAUGHED. I told JP about it afterwards and he just BEGGED me to tell you that, once I left. Compassion has always been my weakness. I knew I was going. I was on my way to places you couldn't even BEGIN to comprehend. You used to talk about how hardcore you were when you were a kid--man, you ain't shit. And whatever possessed you to do what you did afterwards--or rather, what you CLAIMED you did; I never could trust your self-aggrandiziing reports. In your mind you actually DID own that recording studio; in your mind I'm sure you DID know better than Victor about how he should run his business. I suppose it was mercy on the part of the universe that kept you from realizing that in both cases, you were nothing more than a flunky. But for you to come to me and claim that I should take you back because you found some bitch and got her to whip you--that now you "understood" me, "understood" what was between JP and I....



Let me tell you something. IF you even did that--which I still don't believe--even IF you did it a thousand times, you would still not have one infinitesimal SPECK of understanding of what JP and I had between us. You and your planned, orchestrated pose of rage--you know nothing. You know nothing of what we had. You know nothing of knives that bloom like flowers in the night. You know nothing of blades and scars and the comfort of a closed system where everyone understands themselves completely. You think some stranger in a catsuit and too much eyeliner can make you alive. You weakling.



You did so much stupid shit to me--uprooting me, quitting your job like a petulant child because you couldn't get me on the phone to ask me, taking and spending every dollar I earned on toys for yourself. After I left you kept my things--you even kept the things I had before I even MET you, all my college dishes, my grandmother's pots and pans and her persian rug. You let your mother hold them hostage for the money you owed her too; then you stopped paying your share of the bills that were in my name, claiming you had to "protect yourself". What did you have to protect? Everything was on MY credit. Whether or not I was paying them at the time, that was immaterial to you. It was your petty revenge. And then your false sympathy, your crocodile tears, your offers of money once JP was dead and out of your way. You were no different in your thinking than those fifth-grade boys so long ago--the ones who would cajole me to tell them who I had a crush on, claiming they knew and he liked me too, and then when I would admit it they would run and laugh and say it was all a joke. You and your offers of "help", rescinded because "your mother wouldn't let you at your money". Bullshit....you never meant it. You just wanted to hear that I was desperate enough to take your money--money you'd owed all along, might I add. And so you got your lame revenge on me--dangling the carrot then yanking it away. It was a small price, really, for the privilege of that year of life I'd had after I left you. I would have debased myself before anyone for that.



Contrary to what you believe, you were not the best thing that ever happened to me. And guess what? You aren't even the WORST thing that happened to me. You are just a mediocrity, a weak pathetic little man with an inflated sense of his own importance, and only once or twice a year do you even cross my mind.



I'm done with you--but I'm nowhere NEAR done with my life after you.