This is not a plea for pity. Nor is it a cry for cash. It is merely a statement of fact and feelings, in hopes that I can relieve myself of some anger. A state of being that I rarely dwell in for too long. But tonight I am having trouble letting it go... I have been pedaling away anger on my stationary Schwinn on and off for the past two hours. Rage keeps returning in fierce waves, and I wonder how long into the night this will continue?
I cried for hours this morning after my ex-husband called and woke me up saying, "We need to talk." He has been bouncing child-support cheques more often than not. More often than we ever got the *bow-chicka* on in the five and a half years we were married. It's usually a bad cheque every couple of months. But this time he is two and a half months behind and has been promising to make the back-payments every single day this past week. Each day there is another reason he does not. Today he says he will have some of it tomorrow...
My friends and family want me to lawyer-up. I have already been through two lawyers who did nothing they said they would. I am, admittedly, not as squeaky a wheel as I ought to be with the lawyering-types. Emotionally abused women are rarely squeaky wheels. We have been taught to stay quiet. I am trying to unlearn this, but it's a long process.
When my eyes stopped flooding and I went to work this morning, I actually had a great time. I thank the fates for friendly customers and funny co-workers today, of all days. But now that I have put the kids to bed, I am the embodiment of fury. I am worse than Ben Stiller as Mr. Furious, in Mystery Men. Really. I want to smash things, set fires, and shout nasty words. I want to call in the knee-cap breakers, who deal with people like my ex with body language... because my words aren't working.
But these are not viable options at the moment. The kids might wake up. And hired thugs would hurt my conscience.
I am emotionally exhausted. So I will pedal until my body feels the same and then sleep until lucid dreams begin to undo the tortures of today.
And this weekend I will buy a punching bag to hang in my basement. Really.
I cried for hours this morning after my ex-husband called and woke me up saying, "We need to talk." He has been bouncing child-support cheques more often than not. More often than we ever got the *bow-chicka* on in the five and a half years we were married. It's usually a bad cheque every couple of months. But this time he is two and a half months behind and has been promising to make the back-payments every single day this past week. Each day there is another reason he does not. Today he says he will have some of it tomorrow...
My friends and family want me to lawyer-up. I have already been through two lawyers who did nothing they said they would. I am, admittedly, not as squeaky a wheel as I ought to be with the lawyering-types. Emotionally abused women are rarely squeaky wheels. We have been taught to stay quiet. I am trying to unlearn this, but it's a long process.
When my eyes stopped flooding and I went to work this morning, I actually had a great time. I thank the fates for friendly customers and funny co-workers today, of all days. But now that I have put the kids to bed, I am the embodiment of fury. I am worse than Ben Stiller as Mr. Furious, in Mystery Men. Really. I want to smash things, set fires, and shout nasty words. I want to call in the knee-cap breakers, who deal with people like my ex with body language... because my words aren't working.
But these are not viable options at the moment. The kids might wake up. And hired thugs would hurt my conscience.
I am emotionally exhausted. So I will pedal until my body feels the same and then sleep until lucid dreams begin to undo the tortures of today.
And this weekend I will buy a punching bag to hang in my basement. Really.
Posts
Rant complete. I feel better :)
ReplyDelete(But I'm still buying a punching bag.)