HATE

 

As you have probably heard by now, I tend to have my little ups and downs. Maybe it would be more accurate to say I have huge ups and downs. At this point in my life, I know the hugest part of this is my personal physical and neurological condition although I hasten to interject that, in general, that condition is at least exacerbated — if in fact not brought on — by my futile attempts to put up with intolerable conditions, using the most feeble of rationalizations and excuses.

 

Nevertheless, the circumstances of my misbegotten marriage have provided one very important feature to my existence.  Husbands are handy things to have around when one is in the mood to hate. I am in such a mood. I am able, while this need persists, to focus with laser sharp accuracy, all my seething negative energy on that crumpled sweetener packet on the counter or that fucking bicycle he snuck out and bought when I was out of town which he will never ride and which I have to move every time I want to get to my beloved yellow garden wagon, which, I noticed today, he has filled with vintage scuba tanks, ace sportsman that he is. It is fortunate that these laser blasts have no effect on his stony implacable sense of perfection which he wears not as a disguise but as his personal estimation of himself. More fucking power to him. My hate will subside and I will focus on impatiens or barberry or Delaney and my tedious life will continue as before.

 

Don’t misunderstand me.  It is not even that I hate him personally, mind you.  He has his uses.  It is more that he provides easily accessible targets for me when needed.  Personally?  As I often say, knowing for sure  through my personal and extensive life experience, it could be worse.

 

I love that birdcage on my blog design. I adore it.

 

 

Illustration  attribution:    www.titaniumbros.com

 

For some strange reason, it is almost impossible to locate an illustration or photo of an angry redhead.  How ironic. 

 

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