posted by susan-oh-susan / february 16 at 12:15 pm / uncategorized / leave a comment
Marcella said, “Ha, I told you it would be good for you.” Bitch. Of course she couldn’t resist an “I told you so.”
It is not good for me, by the way. I’m sitting here, typing, crying, and feeling stupid.
I am not depressed.
You might think I’m depressed. Because of that whole lonely bit earlier.
I’m not.
I am… livid. I. Am. So. Angry.
I am so angry because I am… I am that despicable thing I never wanted to be, nobody ever wants to be—but I never, never, never imagined…
I am a woman scorned.
A cheated wife.
A jilted (twenty-two years later, but still) bride.
An abandoned wife.
I am forty-three years old, and I am old and alone and life is awful.
This is not depression.
This is fact.
Stupid Marcella.
Writing that this is a fact is not helpful. I’m going to stop typing and text her again, and…
Actually, I won’t.
I hate texting.
You would too if you were me.
That’s how I found out, you know.
Stupid, cheating jerk.
Why was he so stupid?
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