soapboxdiner

In the span of 24 hours

I used to dream of exotic vacations far, far away. Snorkling in the Indian Ocean in a sea of white coral. Sun bathing in the mountains of a tropical isle, all alone with the sun and the singing of alien birds hidden in a canopy of fat leafy fronds and orchids.

Then I grew half-way up, never went to college. Never knew what I wanted to be. I put work first, despite the fact work happened in a minimum wage warehouse or a fast food joint. I worked, and that's what I did. Now hindsight tells me I was foolish, wasting my freedom on dead-ended nothingness and wallowing in remorse. I don't feel remorse anymore. There is only the struggle to sustain. Getting ahead seems so unobtainable right now. And there are no exotic vacations for me in this place. Maybe there will be someday.

I believe in -someday- now, whereas I never used to. But someday now is a much more distant place. The road to someday has more pot holes and bumps than it did 10 years ago. Today, it means sacrifice, buckling down. Biting whatever metaphorical bullet that stands between me and the bromeliads.

I've never been good with biting bullets.

I called the neighbor/sitter tonight, asked her to send my son home. She told me her husband, the father of her four children, was admitted to a psychiatric ward last night. He was feeling suicidal. He'd confessed last night to a five year affair. The mistress was my sitter's best friend. That is, until yesterday. Last night.

I cannot imagine the devastation she is feeling. He'll be in the hospital for 72 hours, if not longer. She's a stay-at-home mother supported solely by the man who dipped his dick in her confidante on a regular basis for five years of their marriage. He put his polluted penis inside of her and called her name in the throes of orgasm, that sick, diseased, two-timing dick. She dropped out of college and got married to him when he fathered her first daughter. For five years, her life has been putting dinner on his table when he got home from "work". She sees no forgiveness now. When the trust is gone, it is gone. Just gone.

I am crushed for them both. Through it all, it is my opinion that on a fundamental level, he is a decent man. He is a weak man. He is a liar and a cheat. He stole something that cannot be replaced or repaid. He wants to die. She wants to fold herself into a heap and cry.

I feel polluted by proxy.

This morning when I closed my door to drive to work, the birds were singing. The clouds in the sky were tinted pink, and I felt beautiful in the springtime. I put a daffodil in a mason jar at work, and I was happy to be alive.

5:55 pm - 02.04.03
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