Still Scorching My Heart
Feb. 13th, 2006 07:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stuntie_jedThis deck is my favorite part of the house, I decide, sitting outside and watching the sun go down off to the side, but still making the water far below glow. I scull another bottle, already got three dead soldiers laying around.
Yeah, the deck is fucking good and I've got decent furniture, nothing fancy just comfortable, thanks to Pete's tip on the mercantile, they set me right. All I had to do was giv’em a general idea what I wanted. And it's something new, the bright hasn't worn off it yet. But dammit, I'm still here on my own. It's different, but the shit inside me is still the same. I've just got a nicer place to be miserable.
It felt so fucking off to be setting my bits around without Glory there making all the decisions. I’m starting to think I don’t know how to think for myself anymore. I earned the swag, she kept the house and the kids and we muddled along just beaut. I know this is all on me, but I still can’t cipher why she went so wobbly about it. Not like I was keeping two houses or got the spinner up the duff. It was a one time thing, slipped my johnson in the wrong cunny, had no intention of repeating the mistake.
As I sit, steadily drinking, going over every single conversation that I can remember, trying to see how I could have fixed it before it got so far, this little niggling idea starts to grow. And every time I turn around, it’s there. Fuck, I’m a brain-dead sheep.
The bitch wanted out anyway.
All I did was give her the sodding best reason in world for leaving her ratbag husband, and getting to play fucking martyred queen at the same bloody time. And that cow waltzed her skanky bum off to Sydney and not one fucking person even questioned it. God, I’m such a fuckwit.
She’ll fucking pay. I’ll see a solicitor as soon as I can. She’ll regret she ever crossed me.
Yeah, the deck is fucking good and I've got decent furniture, nothing fancy just comfortable, thanks to Pete's tip on the mercantile, they set me right. All I had to do was giv’em a general idea what I wanted. And it's something new, the bright hasn't worn off it yet. But dammit, I'm still here on my own. It's different, but the shit inside me is still the same. I've just got a nicer place to be miserable.
It felt so fucking off to be setting my bits around without Glory there making all the decisions. I’m starting to think I don’t know how to think for myself anymore. I earned the swag, she kept the house and the kids and we muddled along just beaut. I know this is all on me, but I still can’t cipher why she went so wobbly about it. Not like I was keeping two houses or got the spinner up the duff. It was a one time thing, slipped my johnson in the wrong cunny, had no intention of repeating the mistake.
As I sit, steadily drinking, going over every single conversation that I can remember, trying to see how I could have fixed it before it got so far, this little niggling idea starts to grow. And every time I turn around, it’s there. Fuck, I’m a brain-dead sheep.
The bitch wanted out anyway.
All I did was give her the sodding best reason in world for leaving her ratbag husband, and getting to play fucking martyred queen at the same bloody time. And that cow waltzed her skanky bum off to Sydney and not one fucking person even questioned it. God, I’m such a fuckwit.
She’ll fucking pay. I’ll see a solicitor as soon as I can. She’ll regret she ever crossed me.
