Live! From the shower of my discontent, it's me again!
Of course I'm alone in here. Who do you think you're talking to?
Apparently my computer doesn't have a cigarette lighter adaptor, so I'm gonna have to do this from the shower again. Well I could do it from my office, but I just watched Pokey melt off my monitor. Now there's just a pink stain running down the back panel. Poor guy, gone without a "Neigh," but a whimper. So on with the shower. Hold on, ssssudssss in the keyssss...
I did start out to do my shopping yesterday, but sitting on the freeway a revelation hit me. Why didn't somebody remind me I was an idiot? I mean, being an idiot—That's no revelation, it's the other part. The part where you could have said something like "Don't go out there, Today is a dark and evil day. Today is Labor Day traffic day." I'm not a horror movie ingénue; I take advice.
California holiday traffic is something to behold: from afar. Picture 1,000,000 rats in a maze, lined face to tail, face to tail, face to tail. Now, take 750,000,000 and give them lobotomies.
I'll give you a second for that. Tell me when you're ready. Now take 30,000, some brainless, some normal, and blindfold them. No, it doesn't have to be a secure knot, this is just an overextended analogy. Ok, so now shuffle your feet on the floor, and static-shock a random bunch while yelling "Cat!" Watch. That's the freeway.
Once I remembered what I was heading into (I'd be one of the blindfolded ones, with static shock, sans lobotomy.) , I got off at the next exit and went back home. My sundry shopping could wait a week; I'm alone, I'll go a week without deodorant.
Ok, probably not, but I've packed enough in my cheek to get me through.
The trip did give me time to think. I remembered recent times being in the car with MyUnwife. Not the "just before she left" times, or even the "distant past" times, but times from like pre-May. The times I think about most. You know what sucks? That's how I'll probably remember her for the rest of my life. There were a lot of passive aggressive moments in my car. I'm surprised there aren't bile stains scorched into the interior. She'd tsk tick and sigh about my driving; There was one fight over the moon roof ("It's not closed" "yes it is..") She was a real bitch. I remember one day she made a special point to walk back to the back of the car to see if the garage door touched it when it closed. She even made the added effort to make sure I knew that's what she was doing. Yeah, quite the sweetheart. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't Bob Barker either, but I'm different, I get along with me almost all the time.
That's just the car stuff. As I'm sitting in traffic waiting for a green light, I start remembering the kitchen stuff, then, making a turn, the living room stuff.
Nope, I don't remember any bedroom stuff. That all happened too long ago. Must have been somebody else.
It's just a shame. I'm not going to remember MyUnwife as the woman I married, I'm going to remember her as the bitch who left. No, not just that, but as the PA spawn from hell. She's not that memory really. In fact, in this divorce, she's been as pleasant as can be expected, probably more so. Yeah, you could argue that that's because she's getting what she wants. And yeah, there may be something to that. But even If I can't "remember" the her I married, does that mean I shouldn't give her what she wants? She's a good person, I just brought out all the "interesting stuff." Oh, I'm not blaming me for her attitude. It was there before I came along, I just gave it nourishment to grow. My wish is that I could remember the woman I spent a week off from college with. Not MyUnwife.
My memories are those maze rats looking for a way out. They know the ships gone down, and they're panicked. Unfortunately, the Blind irritable ones lead the exodus. They're going nowhere.
And still, my feelings now are not melancholy, bitter, or even nostalgic; they're clinical. It's like watching a friend's divorce and going. "Huh, that's a shame." Maybe it's because of those last lasting memories: The parting shots she left me with. Maybe that's why I'm detached. Maybe it's just because I'm an asshole.
I don't know, I just made the turn off to my house. I didn't have time to think further than that.
Speaking of thinking further, something's clogging my drain. Can I get a USB drain rooter?
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