Friday, December 2, 2011

Runaway Train

 Tonight, at about 8:00PM, I ran away from home.

I just couldn't do it anymore. I needed a break. I need a break. I can't deal with all of this, all at once, relentlessly. I needed to breath. And I have seen that my emotional fragility is catching my kid's attention, and it is not good for him. He does not need to be breathing the sorrow in through his tiny little lungs.

So I knew I had to be gone. I have had to be gone for a long time now. But I didn't know where to go. I don't have family I can trust, no friends nearby, no options. I finally broke down and called a long-distance friend, who talked me out of going to my mother (out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were). Then I called a friend who lives in Boise (which is a few hours away), to ask him if he had any ideas. He was all, "What about your condo?"

I totally forgot about that. We have a condo in Boise that is currently unoccupied. This would mean I could have alone time, rest time, no-thinking time, and I could see my friend when I started thinking and worrying and freaking out and needed someone to talk me down from the ledge.

So I called hubby, told him I was leaving, packed a bag and waited for him to come home so I could take him to his mom's car (she's out of town so he can use it), said goodbye to the best kid in the world, and left. The whole thing took about 30 minutes from inspiration to execution.

My return date is supposed to be before Monday at 10:00AM. Because I have to work then.

I didn't take the kid because I love him too much to subject him to myself right now. I can barely take care of myself. I feel like an infant who needs a mother. I love him too much to not choose what is right for him-- which, in this case, is staying with his functional parent for the weekend while the broken one tries to tape herself together with wine and solitude.

Things I packed:

Shampoo and conditioner
Four bottles of wine
Wine key
Fuzzy sweater
Four pairs of pajama pants
Two pairs of jeans
Toilet Paper
Two coconut waters
Two Red Bulls
Air mattress
Two pillows
One blanket

Things I wish I packed:
A cup
An ipod
A utensil for eating
The case of coconut water I set out to take and forgot

Things I probably didn't need to pack but did anyway:
Four clubbing shirts
Clay Matthews jersey
Transformers t-shirt
Two fizzy bath tablets
One bottle of Rombauer Chard
One bottle of La Crema Pinot Noir
Cambozola cheese

And for the record, I was totally fine until I got about three blocks from downtown, at which point I saw all the Christmas decorations and started bawling so hard I couldn't see and became a hazard to myself and others with the blurring of the vision and the driving being mixed.

P.S. Thank you all for your comments and support. The situation is more complicated than my wildly truncated version, but I gave you the salient points from my side. Hubby does not need his balls run over by a train. We have both been unhappy and resentful about a number of things in our marriage, and some sort of crisis was bound to occur. He does need to be happy, and so do I, but I would prefer for him to be happy with me rather than some common whore.

Crap. I did it again. *sigh* It is hard for me to see around her. And not just because her ass is the size of Asia.


You know what? Fuck it. DAMN HER TO HELL.


  1. You could use the wine key as a utensil if you get really desperate.

    I think getting away for the weekend is a wonderful idea, and not at all any type of cop out. Your mind and body need time to breathe, time to heal, time to do NOTHING. I love you!

    Also, fuck that bitch. <2

  2. I love you. I'm sorry you are going through this, but know you have people that love and support you around if you need us.

  3. You know you do not need to be fair in your blog, right? My friend Melissa once had a four page blog entry titled "why my stepdaughter is a skank." But that aside, you're among devoted friends.

    I love that you brought more PJs than pants. Even though it is Boise, I am sure there is a store that sells the other necessaries, and you do have two pairs of "goin' to town" pants with you, so that could be OK.

    I will give you the corner brownie if I can because they are the best ones.

  4. Ok well we can spare your hubby the torture but the skank... Well maybe somewhere there is a rusty cheese grader with her name on it..

    Seriously could you imagine being attacked with a rusty cheese grader?

    When things get really tough just imagine half he face all fuckered up from a cheese grader.

    *Disclaimer, please do not actually attack anyone with a cheese grader because that is illegal.*

    I was going to say it is just morally wrong but hey, who cares. She's a common whore with an ass the size of Asia so its kind of ok to want to fuck her up... Right?

  5. I love you guys. Love you. Legitimate, real, and all-encompassong love.

  6. Listen, it's totally OK to hate her. I don't think there's any woman who's been in a similar situation and not hated the other woman with a wild disgust. Because she is the visible embodiment of all the things hurting you. And she's nowhere near as good as you so it makes no sense on top of it.

    With BWiT who nearly crushinated me, I hated hated hated the little fucker he screwed. Shoulda hated him for doing it, but I needed to preserve the good parts of my friendship with him. Also she is just a horrible person and brought out all the worst in him.

    Is this even helping? What's my fucking point? Should I say fuck every time I comment?

    You are not alone, is what I mean, I think.

  7. Yes! What Milissa said! You can so totally hate her! I mean what ever is going on between you and hubby is between you and hubby and yet here comes skankerilla wearing her ghonnaherpasyphilitis slippers with her coach pulled by crabs waiting outside acting like she owns the place.

    Besides, any woman with half a brain should have realized how fucking awesome you are and just backed the fuck off. Who does she think she is anyway? I am willing to bet she is no where near as beautiful as you (hoebags are never beautiful, just cheap looking instead.) Also I know for a FACT she can not possibly be anywhere near as intelligent as you are.

    I think all the VS ladies should save our pennies to fly there to see you and while we are there we can tell skankerilla to get back in her fucking crab wagon and go back to the venereal disease clinic she came from.



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