Malignant

(Originally 11/04/06)

I feel like I'm about to serious damage to this relationship.

Mt Benefactor is home. He went to the country club rehab yesterday only to find out that his insurance won't cover it. He tells me he was misled by the local screening center that referred him. I could empathize with his frustration and disappointment. He really wanted to go. He even says he should take a second mortgage out on this house so he can just pay for the 28 days in cash. Because he can do that.

Me? I just wanted him gone.

I've been in such a miserable mood when I woke up and heard this news from him. I don't know who to be upset at. I went to the gym at 7:30 and didn't leave unitl 10:00 because I didn't want to come back here. The only thing that led me back into the door was the promise of getting to blog my own frustrations out. And as soon as I'm done, I am well and truly getting the HELL out.

How dare he have these problems. How dare he. This bastard can pony up 20,000 dollars for a posh stay in a dry-out clinic when I had to beg My Friend The Doctor AGAIN to help me pay for the repair of some lousy-ass, POS alternator? Where the hell does My Benefactor, and his ilk, get the ^7G%ing nerve to have these bourgeoisie "anxiety" problems? Can't make their beds without hiring help. Can't raise their children without a nanny that, in any other social situation, they wouldn't even bother to say hello to on a streetcorner. Can't drive down the road and get through a stop light in one turn. Can't order a %$)TTing Grande Latte without having a nervous breakdown. Can't go through six minutes without having to call somebody on the cell, just for the reassurance that somebody somewhere loves them.

This is a hate day. This is a here-again-is-the-worst-of-me day and I don't even give a bloody worm-infested crap about showing it. This is the kind of day that I don't get married for, or pursue anymore relationships for. These are the days that show me that I'm only good for putting cat food in a dish and scooping clumps of litter--THAT'S my contribution to the betterment of Mother Earth.

Everybody else can go scratch. And by "scratch" I mean "go ^$*! yourselves".