The New Bible

Last August, I saw something on Facebook that hurt me. 

A young man left me at seventeen.  He came back looking for me, but I knew he deserved better so I pretended not to notice him.  I chose to let him find someone better. 

Last August, though, when other women would try to get to know him, he invoked his exes. 

That hurt me. 

How in the heck is he going to find someone better if he's constantly bellyaching about us? 

My face must be the reason. 

The picture on his feed must be why he thought of me. 

I unfriended him.  I gave him an explanation.  I will always care deeply for him, so I must give him space. 

I don't know if he cares. 

My religion is odd.  I still refer to the old ways, to the ways of the man who raised me to believe that there are unseen ties between people.  We are tied to each other when we think of each other.  Thoughts tie us together.  Objects tie us together.  Dreams tie us together.   Love ties us together.

If I don't think of him,

if I don't own anything he gave me,  

if I can drink enough to keep him out of my dreams,

then maybe I can stop loving him and cut the tie. 

I unfriended him on Facebook. 

I threw away my cell phone. 

I drink the dreams away. 

I threw away everything I can find that he ever gave me. 

That ought to cut the ties. 

The hardest thing to throw away was the Bible he gave me when I was sixteen.

It went everywhere I did. 

I held it after my sex assault.  In fact, I spent weeks reading it, page after page trying to find hope that there was a God who had a better plan for me. 

It went with me on vacations. 

It was with me when my boyfriend at the time surprised me with a minister and a dress. 

It was with me when he beat me into unconsciousness. 

It was with me when I lay in the hospital trying to recover from the subdural hemotoma. 

When the doctor mixed my MRI up with that of a brain cancer patient, I held it as I heard that I had six months to live.

Six months later, when I went to another neurologist and learned that my name wasn't the one on the MRI, I reread that book in joy.

I took it with me to the battered woman's shelter. 

It was with me when I lived in my car. 

It was one of the few constants in my life. 

After twenty-five years, the cover had torn apart. 

I loved that book. 

But, alas, it reminded me of HIM.

So, I threw it out in a heart-wrenching moment of trying to do the right thing. 

I bought another one and put it in the spot the former book lay on the nightstand by my bed. 

After six months, I decided to tear the plastic off of the old book. 

I opened it for the first time last night. 

I prayed and asked for guidance. 

I swore up and down that the first verse I saw would be the one I would meditate upon. 

I opened it up to the Song of Soloman 5:6

I opened for my beloved.
But my beloved had turned away and was gone.
I sought him, but I could not find him:
I called him but he gave me no answer.

Damn....now, it reminds me of him all over again. 

I feel asleep with the book, meditating on love and loss.  I found myself pondering the phrase

"Do not stir up nor awaken love until it pleases..." 

and wondering about my prayers to find love.  Twice, I found what I thought was love but it always turned out to be little more than a painful lesson. 

Both times, I'd catch myself missing my old friend.

Both times, I felt ashamed for still loving my old friend.

This morning,   I woke up from dreaming of painting a portrait of my old friend.  Each stroke was a wish for his well-being.

Upon opening my eyes and finding it on my pillow, I dog-eared the page and set the book on my night stand.  Something fell off the table. 

I lean down to retrieve it. 

It was a piece of the old Bible.  A piece of the black corner had broken off.  I'll use it as a bookmark. 

Today is a challenging day for me.  My daughter's fiancee left her for another.  I'm torn on what to do.  I can stay in this house and offer her free daycare or I can move away, pay my portion of the rent and give her father my old room.  He lives in the basement apartment.  It would be good for a young mother to live there rent-free until she can get on her feet. 

I will probably spend the day praying for guidance.  

Love ya,

S. 

Three Wishes for a Rapist

I'm not sure if any of those little lamps, necklaces, rocks and other fun stuff from that are sent to me from all over the world are real.

I've been told I have a Djinn or two. 

So....

I wish...

I wish...

I wish Perrish Cox's cock would perish and fall off. 

I mean, what a name!!  How in the world did his mother predict that hoards of angry women would wish that man's cock would Perrish....Perrish Cox...yes, we want that!  Kill his ugly rooster! 

http://www.denverpost.com/breakingnews/ci_20088034

Oh, and if it possible, please send the biggest, scariest, foulest, most disease ridden incubus to visit him each and every night, the ladies of Denver would be much, much safer from his roofie laced cocktails.  Tear Cox a new @$$.  Break Cox's coccyx, so he can never play football again, let alone make another bad pass at a woman. 

If another football team is dumb enough to hire him, they deserve to lose all their games.  A team is only as strong as its weakest link.  Perrish Cox is a loser thus, prepare to lose.

And if you want to go after his defense lawyer and bankrupt his firm, consider that my third wish.   

Whenever a rapist gets off the hook, those of us who have endured the injustice of a man who can't take no for an answer get a little irritated.  We cry for justice. 

We are stronger than the rapists. 
Most men like their ladies live....obviously, Perrish Cox is a chicken-shit little boy who is only comfortable making women unconscious before abusing them.  Since Cox can buy a jury, we best pray he pays in other ways.


Thank you. 


Love,

Siegfred

The Lies We Tell

So....

I had a drunken epiphany at 2:00 in the morning. 

The teenager pulled a fast one. 

Oh...crap....she pulled a really fast one. 

She didn't have school today. 

Why? 

Well, it was parent teacher conference time. 

I never was notified. 

Her Dad knew nothing about it. 

She hid the forms. 

I confronted her.  She denied everything.  She has her father's skill for lying. 

She claimed that she didn't know what I'm talking about. 

I'm just paranoid. 

First, she said there were no conferences. 

Then, she said she lost the form. 

Losing my patience, I corrected her.  The way I see it, she must have a lot of F's that she's afraid of letting me know about. 

This is an ongoing issue.  I want the school to hold her back a year but her teachers refuse. 

She needs to learn to be honest.  She needs to learn to respect her teachers and her parents. 

She needs to learn that lying doesn't help anything. 

We started talking about lying.

I'm a liar.  I lie to myself all the time. 

I lie to everyone else all the time, too. 

My lies are

"I'm okay."

"I'll be fine tonight."

"I don't love you anymore."

"I don't love him anymore."

"I'm not interested in developing any relationship with a member of the opposite sex."

"Mike and I are happy living here for the sake of the children."

"Mike is easy to live with and I can do this another ten years."

"I like sleeping alone because I can wear a whole range of beauty products to bed without explaining myself."

"I like being a mesmerist, so I don't want to earn my state licensure."

"I like being a size twelve."

"Women don't want or need sex."

"If it were a perfect world, I'd be a vegan (uh....if I had what I wanted, I would ingest an animal by-product more often than I care to admit)."

"I truly believe that staying here is the right thing to do (while omitting my regret that kids won't see a happy relationship and that it kills me that the eldest is trapped in the same type of relationship with an obese and irresponsible man who is trying to get her to quit school....what did I teach her to put up with?  Damn....)."

"I like whips (while my dislike of hitting horses with them always allows the animal to control the ride and I am rarely on the actual trail)."

I lie to myself all the time. 

Some truths are never meant to be shared but do I have the right to complain about a child copying what she sees happening around her? 

Maybe I need to start being more honest with myself. 

I'm in pain. 

It is unbearable. 

I work out an hour a day in order to get rid of my angries.  If I miss my workout, I get mad at myself and go out of my way to avoiding eating.  The more elaborate meal I make for everyone else in the house, the angrier I am at myself and the less likely I will be to eat any of it. 

I want a job.  I want my business back. 

I miss intimacy.  I'm alone and afraid to get involved with another person for fear of hurting him. 

I hate politics so much.  I was raised by a Cherokee and told to honor nature.  When I go hiking, I do pick up various pieces of garbage and haul it out of the park.  I want to volunteer with the city next week cleaning up our open space but fear having my reputation as an a-hole government hating loony ruined by a reporter with a camera. 

My entire life is one big lie. 

That's the truth. 

Hmmmmmm......

Maybe I'll try harder to be honest when I'm one on one with the people I love and trust. 

Maybe...

My body language always gives me away. 

Some lies must be told to keep the peace. 

I don't know. 

I'll ponder it. 

Love ya,

S.


Edit:

Well....when I saw her father this evening, I told him that I didn't understand the compulsive lying thing as I'm the type of person to tell people to suck rocks and eat dirt. 

I rarely hold things back.   

He sat down with her and got to the root of the problem. 

Shame. 

People in his family lie when they are ashamed. 

She has no reason to be ashamed of her grades. 

Then I overheard him tell her that I'm an expert in the soft sciences, psychology, social science, anthropology, geology, religion, history, and politics. 

He's a math and science whiz, so her bases are covered. 

He complimented me. 

He actually complimented me. 

There are days when I simply wish things between us could heal....that he could finish up his inner journey and find his way back to me

but...it's time to return back to this pseudo-reality. 

This blog is half lies...half the truth. 

When I hear gossip about myself, I write about it as though it were true.  Maybe I'm hoping to create a fictional character out of it.   The problem, though, is that people don't appreciate getting made fun of and the gossips are giving me less and less material as time goes by. 

There are times when I find this 'character' coming out in my daily life.  There are times when I write this thing and find that it inspires a scheme of sorts to come into being.  It's weird getting into this character. 

I figure that Seigfred must be my alter ego of sorts, my shadow....the bitchy little witchy that wants to seduce filthy, nasty, powerful men and tear all their a**'s into little, tiny, stinky bits.   

And then tithe to the nearest church and beg for forgiveness.  

There is not need to attack idiots...they are usually pretty good at messing up their plans all on their own. 

If I had just one dollar for every person that said I was positive, thoughtful, and sickly sweet....the soup kitchen would be doing just fine....in real life, I am said to be sweet.

Sweet......

until you piss me off. 

Love ya.

S.

Called Out on Leap Year

I'm a hypocrite. 

That's right. 

I admit it. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had a marriage protection activist call me out (quite publicly) for being a married Libertarian. 

I don't believe in the government.  I don't believe in marriage.  Why in the world do I have the same last name as the father of my children?

She's right.  Here is the deal, not everyone believes the same things I do. 

I think that marriage is a couple's commitment to be taxed by the government.   You get taxed to sign the license.  You get taxed at a higher rate after getting married.  The government claims parens patriae over any children that come from said union.  When it ends, you agree to let the government meddle in your lives and tax you for the privilege of peace granted to you by a divorce. 

I don't know why gay people want to get married but I'll fight for their right to get taxed at a higher rate if that is what they want.  God made them the way they are.  Who am I to tell them to be any different than the way God made them? 

Marriage is not real. 

I'm married because of a stupid promise I made 20 years ago.  His family believed in marriage.  He believed in marriage.  I didn't.  I had to actually be hypnotized to get through the ceremony.  It wasn't stage fright.  I talk in front of people all the time.  I was afraid of being trapped in a marriage. 

It's true... I don't believe in marriage.  

Nope.

I never did.

People think that marriage is the cement that holds two people together.  It isn't. 

I learned this lesson the hard way over the past six years when I had dreams of an old flame getting hurt.  I feared he would die in an accident.  I prayed to see him alive.  I had no idea how much I loved him until I looked into his eyes and realized how happy I was that he was still alive and doing fine.   I left the room said a prayer of gratitude and he caught me.  He looked at me and just smiled.  I'm not sure he knew why  I was so happy.  He brought me so much joy just by being alive.

The look in my face must have betrayed the love I held for him.  He was my best friend when I needed a friend the most.  He was my first love. 


Way back in '86, this dear friend and I would discuss marriage.  He wanted to get married on leap year.  I don't know why.  I assume he hates having to remember special dates or he wanted to be different. 

He was different, in a good way.  He is a lot of fun, despite him pretending to be an old curmudgeon.  

I always think of him on February 29th.

I also have a friend with his last name whose actual birthday is today.  I'm so jealous of her because she's only eleven!!! 

She looks great for being eleven!

This year the thoughts of my old friend was worse than the others.

I got in a little fight with the man in the basement over how my credit got freaked because I didn't pay the government to end this union sooner.  I left before it came to blows and went to the library that I tried to have shut down. 

Fighting with this ex makes me wonder how crappy I am as a love.  I want to beg forgiveness from all my exes for being a snotty brat. Fighting with him makes me question my value as a human being.
In high school, I didn't want to marry my dear friend because I wanted to be a musician/celebrity.  Now, I'm a horrid musician and, if I'm a celebrity, I am the local equivalent of Hitler....well, at least in the eyes of librarians. 

It's a long story.  The local government stole money from the libraries and gave it to the police department.  They wanted a tax hike but didn't promise it to the libraries.  I told the people the truth.  The tax didn't pass.  Now I'm evil. 

Sadly, the local government is now stealing money from the police to give to the libraries but that's another story for another day.

Why don't politicians just tell you what the money is for and use it for that purpose and that purpose alone?  If they don't do that.  They are lying to you.  I'm saddened by liars.  I hate lies of omission the worst. 

I hate politics.  There is only one person in the world who knows how much I would prefer to volunteer than to run for office. 
I miss my friend.  I don't want to miss my friend.  I was going somewhere with this but my wine/vodka heart mending elixir is messing with my brain cells. 

What was the point of this post?

Hmmmmmmm....

OH, I Remember!!! 

Marriage is not the glue that holds people together. 

The glue that holds people together is UNCONDITIONAL LOVE! 

Love....

It doesn't leave when its true or when its real. 

It sticks around when it is honest, respectful and selfless. 

It hangs out even when it's uncomfortable and we want to stop feeling it. 

It is with us even when we find it confusing and confounding. 

It lingers even in those times when it is inappropriate. 

It allows us to speak truths we never would speak otherwise.

It forces us to pray for the happiness of the other.  For that happiness is all that matters.
 
Love....all I want is for the happiness of those that I love.

The happiness of the one that I loved first.  The one that taught me how to love.


I would go to the ends of the earth if I knew it would make him happy. 

skyclad


It would be inappropriate to ask him to refresh my memory.  Maybe if I hypnotize myself to go back to 1987....

maybe.....

well...


maybe it's better this way. 

That way, if I run into him and a new future wife, I won't blush. 



Yeah...I'm insane. 



If I allow myself to love you, it will be until the last breath that I breathe.  I'll stay with you if that is what you want.  I'll leave if that is what you need. 

The one I'm with now needs me to leave.  Based on his behavior, he is begging for a divorce.  He just doesn't want to be the bad guy.  He wants me to leave him so he can maintain his reputation as a nice person.  I get it. 

I wish I knew where I belonged. 

I'll figure it out. 

Hopefully by the time I find the place I need to be and the one I should love, the dark clouds of my confusion will have lifted.  

Love ya,

S.

I Left Again

Damn...

I had to leave before I got too nasty.  I know NLP and can spot a lie a mile away. 

He's lying about something big.  God only knows what trouble I'm in for now.

No, he won't tell me. 

I'm probably going to have to go back to console the kids.

People are asking me if I'm okay. 

I'm not....but as long as I post here I'm still alive.

Love,

S.

Garbage Woman

So....

Yesterday he checked out my car and said it was fine.  It still runs rough and stalls but I'll try driving it.

The oven element caught fire.  He ordered a new one. 

I thought maybe he cared. 

He doesn't. 

I went to the grocery store late last night to buy oranges.  I've been trying to feed him healthy food, to minimize his risks of keeling over.  I've been packing him salads and fruit for lunch. 

I ran into a funny bald guy with blue eyes. 

Oh...he looked just like my friend Brad.

Those eyes remind me of Brad. 

The way he turns his nose up at rancid fish reminds me of Brad.

The way he brushes the dust off the shelf reminds me of Brad.

Oh, crap.  I think I have a crush on Brad.  Now, I can't see him for a year.  It'll be a cold day in he!! before I rebound on a friend. 

I began to miss having a crush on my old flame.  It's far easier to have a crush on someone who lives 500 miles away and knows why it won't work with you than it is to have a crush on someone available to you.


I go home in a daze. 

Mike is there waiting for me. 

He tells me I'm cute. 

I was wearing my ugly girl costume.  I wore blue jeans with rolled up cuffs.  A t-shirt with an over sized hoodie, huge brown tortoiseshell glasses and a ponytail.  I combed out my bangs, but with my curly hair the humidity makes them look uneven.  The makeup was minimal as I only wore enough to cover my latest scar right between the eyes. 

I show him my scar. 

How'd you get that?

Well....I was crying a lot and woke up with a wrinkle. 

I thought it made me look ugly, so I put acid on it (like I usually do).  This time, though, the acid ate through the skin and left me with a little deep scar.  I'm going to try to even it out. 

I feel so ugly. 

I feel so broken.

I start to hold back tears. 

I express my confusion.  I don't know what to do. 

I know he stopped listening to me twelve years ago when his family was harassing me because I was a grad student.  That's when he got violent and that's when I first started contemplating a divorce.  I spent a lot of time in therapy. 

Four years ago, he stopped talking to me completely; this was the time when he was being bullied by his boss at the city.  In my research pertaining to workplace bullying, I am finding out that this is common.  The bullied worker withdrawals and stops communicating not only with co-workers but other people in their life. 

Most marriages will experience strain if one spouse works in a hostile workplace.  The longer the marriage the less strain. So far in my research, 6% of these marriages dissolve.  31% are estranged.  61% report strain. 

This is why I'm mad at Donnielle, Robin and the lawyers at the city.  I have had one respondent who worked for the city.....one.  She was set up the same way Mike was and given an impossible quota to fulfill.  A city car followed her.  They stalked her.  They were seen taking photos of her daughter outside of her home.  They harassed her.  She gained fifty pounds.  She considered suicide until she finally found enough money to move into another city.  The harassment didn't quite stop but it subsided. 

Someone at the city sent me an email claiming that Mike was fired for being fat.  The woman was told that she was fired for being too pretty.  It seems to me that someone has an issue with her appearance.

Her stories mirrors ours.  I share that with Mike.  I beg him to get help. 

I start to cry. 

I couldn't help it.  I mean, women who go four years without intimacy feel broken.  I must be broken.  I must be ugly.  I must be gross.  My hygiene must be lacking.  There must be something wrong with me.  

Maybe I need to do more kegels.  Maybe I need to go out and buy a tens machine.  Maybe I'm defective somehow. 

Maybe I need to sear all the wrinkles off my face. 

Maybe I'm just not good enough. 

He tells me that it's not me, it's him.  He wants me to stay to work on our relationship. 

I ask when he wants to do that?  Next week? Eighteen months from now?  Never?  I'd like to have sex sometime before I hit menopause and it dries out. 
I start to cry harder.   I don't know what to do.  Do I try harder? 

If I stay, I fear what he'll do.  If I go, I fear for what he'll do. 

He makes a lot of executive decisions that destroy my reputation.  My credit is ruined now.  I'm unsure how I'm going to find a job. 
I'm in pain. 

He looks at me, spins on his heels and walks down the stairs and into the basement, leaving me alone with the groceries and my tears. 

This is my marriage.  We've been estranged for four years.  It's been dead for twelve. 

I feel like garbage. 

I pray to find a way to leave this house in a way that does the least harm. 

Love,

S.

Sabotaging the Irritated Feminist

Insecure men are dangerous....

I was able to cope with this guy until he had issues with his boss at the city. 

I mean, every time I stepped out of the house to do something my car would get tampered with, his family would bug my coworkers, teachers, mentors, or stalk me, or the gas money would disappear. 

Since he was fired by the city because his boss was jealous of my master's degree, it's been much, much worse.  I say jealous...I'm not sure.  I just know that she claimed she fired him, in part, because I had one.  She also ridiculed my medical condition and told him to stalk me at school.  It is all recorded on court transcripts.  Why in the world would someone raking in over $90,000 of our tax money pull that crap with a citizen?

I'm still a little ticked. 

That master's degree was easy to earn but hard to get because I had to sneak around Mike. 

Every time I do something, it gets sabotaged.  He acts like every incident is an accident but it is more of a pattern. 

Imagine running for office, in a very public campaign, and having all the money for coffee and gas disappear.  Imagine how impossible it is to get to events when you can't find the funds for bus fare. 

Imagine being a Libertarian and trying to get your name OFF the welfare rolls.  Don't know how they signed me up in the first place.

Imagine how crappy it is to have the car break down each and every time you want to go to a job interview. 

Imagine waking up to go to work one day and finding your car....gone!

Imagine getting phone calls from creditors telling you that the accounts are past due when you want to get a job that requires a credit check.   Imagine, now, that all the money you've saved for paying bills ended up in his retirement account. 

Imagine going to college and having your advisor tell you that your husband won't let you finish your degree but won't tell you how he knew that... only that there was a person trying to get a job at that office who wasn't interested in the job.  Turns out, his sister fessed up to going to the school in an effort to make me quit. 

Imagine taking classes to get licensed in a new field and network, only to find your husband sitting outside of the building because his boss told him to leave work (she admitted to that is in court transcripts...somewhat...but still...). 

Some stupid b!tch had to bring up my master's degree as a reason for firing him because she couldn't say the truth - she discriminates against fat people as per the email she sent to me.

Here is the problem.  When we got engaged, he told me I could finish my P.hd.  He told me that I could work. 

Ninety days after our wedding, his mother, sister, aunties and uncles told him that my master's degree would ruin his life. I've been yelled at, had things thrown at me, harassed, slandered and everything else because I went to college.

I can understand a bunch of alcoholic drunks annoying a woman because she works hard...but a Tax Audit Supervisor for the city in which I live? Never....

I want OUT!

Every time I get close....I get sabotaged.

I'm being punished for being myself.  I am not a victim.  I am about to put on my war paint.

Today I'm home without a working vehicle.  I can't go out and buy those cleaning products that bring me comfort.  I'm pissed...

I'm still mad.  The only way to get over anger is with exposure. 

I'm bored. 

If I'm home....

If I can't work....

If I can't clean...

If I can't go anywhere....

Why can't I publish all that stuff? 

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I keep getting hacked.  I have ONE website that the city lawyers know about...it gets hacked constantly but what they don't know is that it is one of THREE. 

I know the city attorney's henchman warned me that the assaults on my privacy and the harassment were due to my politics but I know better....

I became an activist on the local level because of the harassment from the city.

I became an activist after 18 MONTHS of being stalked by a city car.  I even saw one at my office, in another city, 45 miles away.  This is why I won't work from home.  I don't want to play with a lying snotty tax audit supervisor.  The lawyers told me they're watching my business.  The female Finance Director and the Human Resource guy sent me emails warning me to get a business license for every hobby I have.  It isn't going to happen....sorry...not until his former threatening bosses are gone.   
Come on.....someone at the city was stalking me.  I don't get it.  The only connection is with Mike.  Mike's family stalks me.  Could he have had someone he knew at the city stalk me to freak me out? 

I mean....

Could Mike and his boss have had an affair? 

Why else would she care so much about my personal attributes?

Why else would she slander me?

Why else would city cars have sat outside my home so darn much?

Why else would I have to endure abusive phone calls from city lawyers? 

Why else did he gain so much weight so he couldn't have sex?  I've actually seen people do that in clinical practice.  I have seen people gain a lot of weight to keep them from being unfaithful more often than I care to admit. 

Hmmmmmm......

I wonder if there is evidence? 





But then, I swear, it is like he has a split personality.  He'll get a nasty look in his eyes and he'll admit to doing all sorts of scary things.  This is why I shoved his butt in group therapy.  He left because his boss spread rumors that he was in group therapy for beating me. 

Nope...he was in group therapy for acting like an adult child of an alcoholic.  He came home one day claiming that his boss said that her supervisor drank heavily and would harass her via the telephone at all hours of the night.  This triggered Mike's childhood trauma and I told him to get help.  He did and was fired. 

And, somehow...it came down to the city violating the ADA and them blaming me in order to stop focusing on their wrongdoing.  The problem is that they never met me and their lawyer ignored my warnings about Googling my name to see what I did for fun (political activism for children's rights). 

If I'm not afraid to take on idiotic school boards, uneducated social workers and bad dads, why would I be afraid of a couple of city employees?  They are a stupid bunch of moronic eggheads.  

I am NOT a victim.  I am an irritated feminist.  Heads are going to roll. 

Now, trust me, the city attorney and the HR director know exactly what I want.  I want the city to adopt a policy of confidentiality for all potential victims and perpetrators of domestic violence.  I want them to refer people to the EAP program.  I got the idea from talking to various victim advocates across the country.  They refuse to do that because acusing men of domestic violence is a damn good way to embarass them so they quit their jobs.  It's the city's way of culling the herd. 

A libertarian understands the need to reduce overhead.  She doesn't understand the need to put the taxpayer at risk of legal payouts due to wrongful termination because the supervisor lied about (aka slandered) a man and his family in order to get him fired. 

An emotionally abused woman doesn't appreciate having the city stand behind her abuser and giving him the excuse to amp it up.  I can put up with any man's crap.  I can work around it, unless the idiot feels vindicated by the government. 

Now...they've done it! I'm angry. 

I want out of this house....this mess....this life....now.  I want the city to take responsibility for slandering me and blaming me for the bad gossipy behavior of Mike's former supervisor. 
I don't know who the man in the basement is anymore so I'd rather be as far away from his bull as possible. 

He wants to stay married. 

He can't tell me what he wants from a marriage. 

This isn't a marriage. 

This is hell. 

I want to leave before I make him burn in the fiery walls of the hell we created.   


If I can't do that at this time, perhaps, I should focus on frying another little fishy and a Robin.

Yeah...the lawyers gave me copies of several emails between Donnielle and Robin (idiots at the city trying to ruin his reputation).  Why they'd conspire to ruin someone is beyond me.....

Posting them online could help me get that policy change I want so bad.  I just want to be assured that it won't happen again.  I wasn't told they'd stop the behavior.  They threatened me to try to keep me quiet.  They even asked Mike to sign a document promising to keep me quiet.  He refused.

I mean...really....how in the hell is he going to keep me quiet?  Cut off my hands and tongue?

If he beats me, he's going to get a small room six feet underground.   He knows it.  I don't care if it is PC or not.....you don't hit a country girl who likes guns.  It's a good way to get yourself hogtied. 


Here is the deal.  Threats don't work well with a pissed off, redheaded, irritated feminist. 

I'm sitting here considering posting a heck of a lot of documents online. 

It's not illegal for me to post them online.  I didn't post them before because the city attorneys threatened to blackball and harass Mike if I say something.  That won't sway me anymore simply because he's not very nice to me.

Maybe Donnielle and Robin can give him a karmic lesson as I give them one of mine. 

It would make me feel a heck of a lot better. 

Love ya,

S.