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Life on the other side of seperation.




I suppose this being a first entry, I should do some sort of intro or some such, but that being said it would assume that people would read this and/or care. So consider this an intro:




Those that are actually having thier arm twisted enough to read this already know who I am. If you don't, I'm berf. You'll figure the rest out quickly enough I'm sure. And don't worry about todays entry title; it's not going to be an emo whinge fest. Unless that's what you want?


Is that what you want?


I wish people would just tell me what they want...






I'm not doing a reread. If I do end up reading something and I find it interesting enough to comment on, I will. But if you are expecting a page by page commentary of The Wheel of Time series, prepare to be severely let down. I'm sure there are seventeen thousand other people doing it anyway, go bother them.


No, I'll be a doing a reread of the Goosebumps series, by R.L Stein. But not yet.




Nope, today I'm here to talk about SEPERATION. That is, of the married life. As in, a horribly traumatic time that has a lot of unexpected ups and downs, and more plot twists than even M Knight could stick in and think appropriate. I've been single-ish for about a month now, and life is pretty ...bumpy. Not smooth. And more up and down metaphors, too.


I won't bore you with the details, but the decision was mine. No one has been unfaithful or anything, it was just crystal clear to me that it wasn't working, and never would. I bit the bullet. I tore it off like a bandaid, and now my open wound of pain and cold silence has metamorphasized (is that a word? let's continue) into a gentle caress of the winds of freedom and the hurricane of responsibility. The butterfly of emotional attachement has eluded me, though the cold comforting earthworm of Xbox and Pizza is a constant in my garden of earthly delights.


Are you still following? Because I think that metaphor turned crazy sexy at the end there.


So I've moved out. I'm staying with a friend. He's a good guy. Not too great as a wingman being married and working nights and all, but I'm bound to make a new friend sooner or later. With a jawline like mine? Forget about it. I'll have dudes knocking down my door to hit the clubs in no time. I've already had a few invites; the Toolshed, Jackhammer, Top n Bottoms, and the strangely named Obviously Gay Nightclub. I think its post modern, or something. I can't keep up with these kids.


But here's the kicker. We have a beautiful 10mo daughter Claire. She's truly the sun shining down on my earlier garden metaphor. Due to prior commitments, the soon-to-be ex-wife has needed a babysitter for the past 5 saturdays in a row. Overnight, I have become shunned from social circles, avoided like a diseased hyena trying to pee in the town well. She has claimed our friends as her own, and I find myself on the outer. What's a hyena doing unescorted through mid-town anyway? So many questions.


So what's a 2-to-3-times-a-week single dad to do?


So far my entire plan consists of watching Dora the Explorer repeats and staring longlingly into my scotch. The phone occasionaly rings, generally it's my mother asking all sorts of akward questions which Hawking himself wouldn't have the answer to. In all fairness to Steve though, he's not privvy to a lot of information my mother is requesting, and quite frankly I don't want him involved. Not Steve. He doesn't need to be bogged down in my problems, he's trying to solve the Universe. Godspeed, Steve, Godspeed.


Oh, I've also been listening to Godspeed You! Black Emperor. It goes well with scotch and pureed beets. Our rug looks like a Pollock original. Is anyone into Abstract Rug Art, anymore? I know it was big in the 80's, but so was cocaine. I'm definately linking the rise and fall of rug art to that fact.


So does life suck?


Not really. I find myself enjoying my freedom, but wholly unable to actually use it when it counts. I want to go out. I want to drink, dance, be merry, but really all I've done is anger the babysitter, and now she refuses to work for me. It seems wholly unfair that I get the tag of "Horrible Wife-Leaving Husband", and don't even get to reap the benefits of said act. People think I'M the douche, but what I've done is release my ex onto the world, and give HER a new lease of life, socially speaking, whilst im at home holding the fort down. Mental note: Stop buying paper forts.


Good for her, though. I mean that without sarcasm. It's nice to see her full of life again.


But when is my turn?






I'm pulling out the hair wax (gel is so 90's), ironing my best "I'm an important, handsome dude, who incidently never says dude, ladies" T-shirt, and taking good care of my skin with a PH balanced combination moisturiser and sunblock, and hitting the town in freakin' style. EXTREME style. I've been saving my pennies. I'm gonna trade them in for local currency and PAINT THE TOWN RED. I'll then use the penny-money to pay the fines for said act of vandalism, AND KEEP ON DRINKING UNTIL THE SUN RISES (somewhere. It'll be rising somewhere when I pass out in a pool of hobo-fluid and kebab sauce). Also, can you pay fines at night time? I'll let you know. KEBAB SAUCE. Yeah!


You know, I think I had a point somewhere roughly 1/3 into this blog. I've since lost it along the way. But I think the journey stands on its own. We veered into some oncoming traffic, asked some questions of the cop that pulled us over, and the magistrate didn't give us an answer. But that's ok. We're in jail now. Our problems are over, at least for tonight.


Free rent and free food!






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That was not the intended effect. Please, use the berf perspective as directed. If symptoms persist, consult your local GP. :wink:



effects are often unintended. wishing you all well.

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