Pulling the Wool

Nobody believed at first that asshat was cheating on me due to the fact that he weighed over 400 pounds. (I assume that he still does.)

It completely dumbfounded my family, especially my mother. She really loved him and when the shit hit the fan, she took it personally.

Love can turn to hatred in a nanosecond.

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He had pulled the wool over her eyes and that was unacceptable. Just like me, he is now dead to her and that’s that. I wasn’t the only one who was so bitterly betrayed.

But back to his weight and the fact that people were like…what the fuck? Who would want that fat ass?

Well, as it turned out, there was a vast supply of females who wanted a piece of that jelly roll.

(I can talk like this because I have always been on the heavier side myself.)

Back in 2015, when I was going through a severe mental health crisis, I had a feeling deep down that he was cheating on me, but when I vocalized my suspicions, my mom nixed the idea straightaway. (See above for why.)

I let the idea go. It was easier for me at the time to dismiss my gut instincts and blame myself for just being sick in the head and paranoid.

Appearance has nothing to do with it. If someone is able to cast a web of bullshit, they can catch a turd easily enough.

Don’t ever doubt your gut.

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My ability to write anything decent comes in spurts. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been blogging actively for over 5 years now or if it’s due to my excessive need for perfection, rereading the same paragraph for typos, comedic timing and word flow.

That takes quite a few quarts of thinkin’ lube.

That’s one reason why I’ll post a song that I really love, especially if said song can express my current feelings and whatnot.


I really wish that I had a great voice or even an ounce of musician inside of myself, but I do not.

We all need to stop wishing for this and for that when it comes to natural talents, seriously.

I can make the loudest, most realistic armpit farts north of Columbus, but maybe you’ll never have the knack for it.

But I’m sure that there’s something that you’re better at than I am, like rapping.

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Yo, indeed.

Lyrical Gangsta Cat.


I keep messing around with my hair, it just doesn’t look right yet. It’s a work in progress. My daughter kind of half-assed helped me, but I still wasn’t happy with the results, although I’m really thrilled that the stuff washes out over time or with numerous shampoos to the unsightly spot.

I live an exciting life. Fuck yeah.


I’ve told a few people already that I’m starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel, although I’m not tap dancing (I can’t) or anything like that. I just feel like underneath all of the ick, it was a blessing in disguise.

I’ll just leave it at that for now. I still hope that he chokes on a wang.

Oh, joyful me..

I have been thinking about the last time I felt joyful.

Joy…noun : the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation.

To be honest, I don’t feel much euphoria these days. I suppose when I have just finished medicating myself, when the pain is at bay, I will experience a feeling of well-being for a short time. I can pretend that I am perfectly normal again. I long for that with every fiber of my being.

It’s a mock feeling of joyousness, but I take it gratefully.

I am aware of my blessings. I was truly thankful just the other day, as a matter of fact. My family is all still here with me. We had oodles of food. Shelter over my head, a warm bed to sleep in. Friends who love and support me. A loyal dog, who tries to keep me from leaving the house by sitting on my feet while I try to put on my socks and shoes.

The more I think about it, the more I am certain that experiencing pure joy becomes harder the older we get. Most of us become jaded and bitter, because let’s be realistic here; life’s a bitch. Each trauma and tragedy we endure takes us farther away from great delight.

Yet…

I am poor as a church-mouse, but rich in love.

I am fragile and broken, but trying to mend.

I have people willing to help me sew.

I wake up each day now with the will to live.

I get to immerse myself on a daily basis with my first love, writing.

My daughter is a beautiful young adult.

I still know all the words to “Joy to the world.”

Maybe it is harder to find it, but not impossible.