So I was in a really cheerful and benevolent mood last night. It was Friday, life was good. My first husband, we’ll call him Cryan, texted me and wanted to hang out and chill. He wanted me to go over there but I sure as hell wasn’t going to drive, so I told him to come to my place and he said he sure as hell wasn’t going to drive. Since my boyfriend was at a grocery store near Cryan’s dilapidated, demon-infested trailer, I told him to go by there and pick him up, if Cryan would actually leave.
Cryan and I are the personification of androgynous split at birth. I am the female part, he is the male. We are so much alike it’s absolutely pathetic and disgusting that there are two of us alive wasting air. We were both born on the second of the month, we are both fire signs, I am cardinal, he is mutable, and together we bore a daughter who is also fire, but she is fixed fire.
I named her “My Angel” because she is.
It is my belief that because we are so much alike, Cryan and I, we do not get along well for any longer than approximately one hour. We were both abused as children and immediately became hooked on drugs as soon as we were old enough for them to become available to us. The drugs were and still are, to some degree, one of our biggest battles.
I have long since quit the hard drugs, and I’d like to say that Cryan has, too, except he was always a fan of opiates and I was not. My body does not tolerate opiates well, at all. I did become addicted to lortabs after the birth of my second son who was delivered via cesarean. But, even at the height of that addiction, which did last five years and ended in 2011, my heighest dosage was like MAYBE 4 lortab 10’s in a day and I never took a whole pill at a time lest I puke.
Cryan, on the other hand, loved the opiates. He would get fucked up on morphine and ransack the neighborhood, go to jail, and have no memory of any of the shit.
So, Cryan came over last night. He was fucked up as all get out, and I was pretty drunk, too. He asked me to pray and I told him I don’t do that anymore. He asked me why and I told him the truth….my prayers don’t get heard….I’ve lost too much.
So he got pissed off and I tried to assuage the situation by changing the subject matter to something more light-hearted. We started talking about MMA and how he used to take classes. I asked him if he wanted to go outside and spar with me. I really wanted to practice an arm bar.
So we go outside and put our dukes up…I’m thinking this is all in fun, and then I see a glean in his eye that was not anything outside of PURE FUCKING EVIL. His first jab was to my mouth and he busted my bottom lip.
Ok….I’m a big girl….I know what blood taste like…it ain’t that bad….
I popped him back. I got about three jabs to the side of his head, but I really wanted him on the ground because my legs are actually VICIOUS MORTAL WEAPONS. I accomplished my task and would’ve KICKED THAT BITCH’S ASS….except my head ended up directly in an ant pile.
I had ants all over me. I could feel them biting every square inch of my back and arms….they were crawling on my face and they were in my eyes.
I literally have several hundred ant bites all over my body, especially on my back, arms, chest, eyelids and behind my ears.
What is worse is that I am severely OCD about popping zits…and ant bites are zits on steroids. Some of them even make a noise when you pop them.
I look like I have scabies.
I’m gonna kill that bitch one day.