I So Hate My Husband: You Fucktard You

Sunday, December 11, 2011

You Fucktard You

I so hate you very very much. If looks could only kill, I could have killed you a zillion times over and over.

Just tonight, you came from your high school reunion. You were there almost the entire day since this afternoon. And the time says it is half past 1 in the early morning. I asked who you saw, and you were quite hesitant to tell me that your best girl friends were there, and they all gave you a smack on the cheek. Never mind where, but it really kills me to know that and imagine that in my feeble brain.

I know you had loads of fun being with your fucktard classmates. Good for you because you have them all. I so hate this fucking life with you! And you don't even know that I removed you from my Facebook contacts list. Hah!

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Thank you, Mariel Clayton, for the photo I used.

2 comments:

UnknownFebruary 10, 2015 at 11:39 PM
is this for real
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Evening Solace

THE human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;–
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back–a faded dream;
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie!

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress–
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come.

~ Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855)