Just call me a walk in closet...
Just call me a walk in closet....
...coz I got me enough hangups to keep the laundromat in bidness.
There's a park in my town (like most towns, I'm assuming). There's a dog park, a couple of playgrounds, disc golf, hiking trails, a little bit of everything. Baseball diamond, even, if you're one of those odd ducks* that is into that particularly foul◇ game. It's where they hold concerts, do fireworks, and any number of community events. It's where I have had and attended birthday parties. It's a great park.
I haven't been back there since my stepson was born. Not because I don't want to take him to the park to play. Not because the girls wouldn't enjoy hiking the trails or taking their bikes there. I don't go there because of my own hangups.
"How the fuck can someone have hangups about a park?!", you might be thinking. Or you might realize, like you should have from the first inkling I ever really revealed to you, that my hangups are myriad and illogical.♧
When I first found out about the affair, I was hurt. Not shocked because he really showed me how little he thought of me in the time leading up to the affair and revelation of the depth of his deceit, but hurt.
I, mistakenly, thought that the more I knew, the more I could process it. I asked for details. Yes. I'm a fucking idiot for being such a smart person. How did they meet? Where did they meet? When you were "walking the mall because you didn't want to go home" were you with her? Did you bring her to my house? Did you use my bed? (Yes on both of those, but "only once"). Where would you normally meet?
Turns out that she has really dark tinted windows and they would go to that park, when they didn't go to a motel.
So much ew.
So mom and H were talking recently about wanting to take the adorable little munchkin to the park to check out the newly installed playground area. She doesn't like feeling like a single mom• when she takes him to the park.
And so yeah, it's like the idiots that name their kid after where they were conceived taking family vacation there every year. You're going to go together to a place where you two used to fool around to watch him play on some swings? Especially when there are playgrounds all over town? What kind of sick fucks are you that you're rubbing it in my face. As much as I don't want you two to be alone at the scene of the crime, I cannot go. I love the kid, but I'm not going to hang out where I know you've done things that I haven't done in quite some time.
I can't watch a person who is always too tired for me, continue to go spend time with a woman who, because she gave him the son I didn't, is more important than sleep.
The hierarchy is football, the kid, the kids mom, his bestie, his sister, sleep, television, stupid funniest videos on his phone, the girls, the housework, dirt, and then me.
I'm a doormat, I know it, but I also know that I'm not going anywhere near that fucking park. It's too personal. Takes up too much real estate in my head.
Thirsty Thursday, y'all!
C.D.
*this is, of course, a direct jab at my favorite human pincushion, the one person I can tell anything to (that's still alive anyway) and who has saved me more than once from succumbing to my depression. Much love☆
☆love is a strong word that I know you don't like. It's meant platonically here and that you are worthy of my respect and admiration. I'm glad you call you my friend.♤
◇You see what I did there? Foul... and footnoted it with a diamond? I'm so clever.
♤No, fool, I do NOT want to touch your junk.
♧LLAP, bitches!
•try not fucking a married man if you want to not feel like a single mom. Further, how many couples actually go to the park with their kids? One or the other of them is working, doing chores, or similar while the other is taking the kids out to be out of the way or run some energy off.
...coz I got me enough hangups to keep the laundromat in bidness.
There's a park in my town (like most towns, I'm assuming). There's a dog park, a couple of playgrounds, disc golf, hiking trails, a little bit of everything. Baseball diamond, even, if you're one of those odd ducks* that is into that particularly foul◇ game. It's where they hold concerts, do fireworks, and any number of community events. It's where I have had and attended birthday parties. It's a great park.
I haven't been back there since my stepson was born. Not because I don't want to take him to the park to play. Not because the girls wouldn't enjoy hiking the trails or taking their bikes there. I don't go there because of my own hangups.
"How the fuck can someone have hangups about a park?!", you might be thinking. Or you might realize, like you should have from the first inkling I ever really revealed to you, that my hangups are myriad and illogical.♧
When I first found out about the affair, I was hurt. Not shocked because he really showed me how little he thought of me in the time leading up to the affair and revelation of the depth of his deceit, but hurt.
I, mistakenly, thought that the more I knew, the more I could process it. I asked for details. Yes. I'm a fucking idiot for being such a smart person. How did they meet? Where did they meet? When you were "walking the mall because you didn't want to go home" were you with her? Did you bring her to my house? Did you use my bed? (Yes on both of those, but "only once"). Where would you normally meet?
Turns out that she has really dark tinted windows and they would go to that park, when they didn't go to a motel.
So much ew.
So mom and H were talking recently about wanting to take the adorable little munchkin to the park to check out the newly installed playground area. She doesn't like feeling like a single mom• when she takes him to the park.
And so yeah, it's like the idiots that name their kid after where they were conceived taking family vacation there every year. You're going to go together to a place where you two used to fool around to watch him play on some swings? Especially when there are playgrounds all over town? What kind of sick fucks are you that you're rubbing it in my face. As much as I don't want you two to be alone at the scene of the crime, I cannot go. I love the kid, but I'm not going to hang out where I know you've done things that I haven't done in quite some time.
I can't watch a person who is always too tired for me, continue to go spend time with a woman who, because she gave him the son I didn't, is more important than sleep.
The hierarchy is football, the kid, the kids mom, his bestie, his sister, sleep, television, stupid funniest videos on his phone, the girls, the housework, dirt, and then me.
I'm a doormat, I know it, but I also know that I'm not going anywhere near that fucking park. It's too personal. Takes up too much real estate in my head.
Thirsty Thursday, y'all!
C.D.
*this is, of course, a direct jab at my favorite human pincushion, the one person I can tell anything to (that's still alive anyway) and who has saved me more than once from succumbing to my depression. Much love☆
☆love is a strong word that I know you don't like. It's meant platonically here and that you are worthy of my respect and admiration. I'm glad you call you my friend.♤
◇You see what I did there? Foul... and footnoted it with a diamond? I'm so clever.
♤No, fool, I do NOT want to touch your junk.
♧LLAP, bitches!
•try not fucking a married man if you want to not feel like a single mom. Further, how many couples actually go to the park with their kids? One or the other of them is working, doing chores, or similar while the other is taking the kids out to be out of the way or run some energy off.
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