soapboxdiner

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In the mail, a letter. Congratulations, you've gone 35 months without modifying your child support. This is a notice to let you know that if you want, we can do that for you now, free of charge.

Of course, the last time we had this done, I nearly tripled the support I was getting, plus a bunch of other shit that comes in real handy.

O'course, the situation was quite different then. I was Ms. Moneybags on the rise and had an income that pushed daddy's proportionate share of our combined incomes out the roof. And being the nasty mean hearted bitch that I am when someone fucks with others heartlessly without mercy, I socked it to his lying cheating no good ass.

O'course today I don't have shit and play "pick the long stick" when selecting which bills get paid.

And o'course, (ain't karma a bitch?) they sent the letter to daddy too, who will hop on this new shit like Shallow Hal bagging himself some Gwenneth... which inevitably means we'll have to re-evaluate financial statements while sitting in the same assed room. Which in turn means I'll be subjected to his sorry ass feeding me his garbage that he thinks I'm the worst mother in the world who never should have been granted the right to reproduce - and that I've ruined his life and now am furthering the damage by extending my evil reaches into the tender flesh of "his" child.

All while trying to maintain my cool with a child who has suddenly become possessed by Lucifer himself and does a Damion head rotation projectile vomiting act whenever I don't produce whatever the hell he wants the second he wants it.

What I really want to do is bag the whole fucking thing - give the kid to his father and be done with it.

Reading: Wild soul is a thing that keeps fighting to protect itself when it's threatened. That's how it stays healthy.

Feeling: Yeah, that's right. Bite my ass, self-help book.

7:34 pm - 09.20.02
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