Just Move On, Mer!! A Special Rant Post

Now that I’m divorced, I have many people telling me to just move on.


Let me break this shit down for all of those well-meaning peeps. (Love you.)

My MARRIAGE ended in the absolutely worst scenario, like, ever.

My husband CHEATED on me, probably multiple times over the years, but he had a fucking MISTRESS. Her name was Debbie. She had a pug. She lived only a couple of towns over.

She knew that he was married, but this did not stop her from diddling my ex husband.

So, as much as I am ecstatic to be divorced now and no longer living with such a garbage person, a genuine sociopath, who darkened my life with his fiendish personality and also subtly abused my daughter, I cannot just “move on” that easily.

Do you know how that totally fucks with your mind?

You’re thinking to yourself, well shit. I must be the worst, most ugliest, worthless woman on the planet.

The entire ordeal continues to haunt me. I’m almost positive that it would haunt YOU as well, thank you ever so kindly.

Trust me, I DO want to MOVE on, more than you can even fathom. I wish that there was a reset fucking button and I could go back to the day he asked me to marry him.

I would’ve laughed in his damned face!


I would’ve kicked him out then and there. Phew!

Fuck yeah!!

I would’ve spit in his food and told him that his beloved ding dong was microscopic.

But I can’t go back in time, this isn’t a mother fucking movie.

But what I can do is be realistic and realize that I need to address years worth of trauma and abuse. I asked my doctor to refer me to a psychologist, which he did. I’ll make the call tomorrow morning.

I think that most people don’t quite realize how truly difficult it is to “just move on” from unpleasant life experiences. In theory, it sounds fucking peachy keen, doesn’t it?

Oh yes, I never think about it anymore, Wilma. I have successfully moved on! 

My God, I wish that were the truth.

I’m admitting right here, on my humble little blog, that I do indeed need some professional help dealing with a large¬†amount of bullshit. Self-administered EMDR therapy and positive memes just aren’t cutting it.

Rant over.



I dabble with a couple of little hobbies that bring me some gratification.

I make bracelets. I buy my supplies on Etsy, allowing myself a budget of around $20 a month. (I’m poor.)

They are nothing special. And my numerous attempts to try and sell them…all major fails. It seems that everyone is making these fucking things nowadays, they come a dime a dozen.



But, I enjoy it. It’s extremely relaxing and a creative outlet, picking the beads, matching the colors, bling and whatnot. My daughter got me a plastic thingy with two drawers to hold all of my stuff. Ironically, I made her a custom one and as she was removing it yesterday, it fucking broke in her car. She tried to gather up all of the beads, but some of them rolled under her seat.

I told her I was sorry and that maybe I need to buy better quality stretchy cord.

I watch YouTube videos for ideas, patterns and how to tie the correct knots. Then I use some super glue for extra hold, which obviously doesn’t always work. (My daughter is stronger than she looks, perhaps.)

The second hobby I dabble with is DIY home improvement. I’ve installed the flooring in my living room before and after the flood we had back on New Years Eve Eve to save some extra money.

The check that the utility company paid me due to accidentally breaking the waterline outside of my condo only went so far, figuring that I had to replace my dryer, some furniture and other things that were ruined. I used the rest of it to get nineteen extractions and dentures.

I was getting really tired of toothaches, crumbling teeth and abscesses.

I’m also currently still finishing my upstairs hallway floor, since my oldest dog Maggie is having issues holding her water at night. For some reason, she decided that the hallway was the perfect place to relieve herself.

You can only clean a carpet so many times before the smell of dog pee makes your eyes water.


My goodness, that’s pungent.

She has to wear a dog diaper before bedtime now. She’s going on 12 years old coming up this August, so I don’t scold her, because she just can’t help it.

I’m honestly thinking about selling my condo, though. This place holds so many bad memories for me and my daughter. I haven’t officially decided yet, but until I do, we’ve been trying to redecorate on a budget and fix it up the best we can.

Let’s see, what else? I plugged a black ant hole up in my living room drywall (I hate those bastards) with some damp Magic Eraser after I sprayed the point of entry liberally with some Raid.


I could probably insulate my walls with this shit.

My kid even painted our upstairs bathroom, a lovely mauve color. I’m planning on cleaning the shower tiles with a toothbrush and applying some peel/stick tub caulk so it’s more pleasant for us when we take a poo or bath.

I’m quite adventurous, I know. I often overdo it and my foe fibromyalgia comes to remind me that I’m a stubborn dork.

My favorite hobby that I dabble with continues to be writing/blogging.

I swear, one of these days I’m going to write that book.

Right after I make one more bracelet and stain my kitchen cabinets.