kelly has convinced Marge that when Bob was having his asthma attack, Sheila put "something" in his nebulizer and murdered him. They believe my paranets covered it up because they paid for the funeral services.
Sheila stole morphine from my dying uncle. Once Mom caught her in the act, the drugs were placed in a lock box and my sister was banned from coming inside. (this was last summer) Junkies typically do not save up their drugs, they use them. Also, Bob did not have $5 million life insurance policy. He had a small one left in the names of his children. But mrage will be convinced of this until the day she dies. Thanks kelly.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Titles are Unnecessary
Dear Bob,
I really wanted to write about everything that's happened. This may be my only chance for a while but I'm too exhausted to account for the last 3 days events. I wake up in the morning and it's like nothing happened. As I brush my teeth, it hits me that you're gone. I think, "I can't believe Bob's gone." Then I'm a complete mess all day.
I keep going over the What Ifs and it's making me crazy. Your family is making me crazy and giving Shawn a new kind of stress. Your sister has completely lost her mind. So much in fact that I've completely written her off. I'm done with her. If I could break her nose, I might feel better but I won't do that. I keep thinking about the time you taught me how to play "Enter Sandman" on the guitar--the first song I ever learned--but hearing the song now doesn't make cry. I cry for a lot of other reasons.
Your children are Shawn's and my priority. If things head south, we will take care of them. I still think if you'd have moved out so many years ago as you told me, you might still be alive. But maybe not. You still would have smoked and ate pounds and pounds of red meat. I respect you for staying and I respect for you for not believing in divorce. I respect that you always defended her. I respect that you always believed things would turn a corner.
I don't believe what is being said. Same goes for Shawn. You had a weak heart and it failed. I do not question that. You had nothing to offer by leaving us.
The whole world has gone mad. Both families are going mad. But you'd be so proud at how your children are handling themselves. Yes, they've cried but their behavior is impeccable.
I miss you. Maybe where you are it'll be like ten minuets and we'll all meet again. The last three days have felt like ten years. If you are in Heaven, touch your children now and then, leave a message for poor Kristin. Your heart stopped while hers continued on and it will be with her forever. I'm keeping an eye on her as always.
My heart is broken and I miss you and your thousands of jokes (where did you store them all?) and your quick wit and odd humor. I hope to see you soon.
I really wanted to write about everything that's happened. This may be my only chance for a while but I'm too exhausted to account for the last 3 days events. I wake up in the morning and it's like nothing happened. As I brush my teeth, it hits me that you're gone. I think, "I can't believe Bob's gone." Then I'm a complete mess all day.
I keep going over the What Ifs and it's making me crazy. Your family is making me crazy and giving Shawn a new kind of stress. Your sister has completely lost her mind. So much in fact that I've completely written her off. I'm done with her. If I could break her nose, I might feel better but I won't do that. I keep thinking about the time you taught me how to play "Enter Sandman" on the guitar--the first song I ever learned--but hearing the song now doesn't make cry. I cry for a lot of other reasons.
Your children are Shawn's and my priority. If things head south, we will take care of them. I still think if you'd have moved out so many years ago as you told me, you might still be alive. But maybe not. You still would have smoked and ate pounds and pounds of red meat. I respect you for staying and I respect for you for not believing in divorce. I respect that you always defended her. I respect that you always believed things would turn a corner.
I don't believe what is being said. Same goes for Shawn. You had a weak heart and it failed. I do not question that. You had nothing to offer by leaving us.
The whole world has gone mad. Both families are going mad. But you'd be so proud at how your children are handling themselves. Yes, they've cried but their behavior is impeccable.
I miss you. Maybe where you are it'll be like ten minuets and we'll all meet again. The last three days have felt like ten years. If you are in Heaven, touch your children now and then, leave a message for poor Kristin. Your heart stopped while hers continued on and it will be with her forever. I'm keeping an eye on her as always.
My heart is broken and I miss you and your thousands of jokes (where did you store them all?) and your quick wit and odd humor. I hope to see you soon.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Not My Skin
This morning at work I was hangin clothes and could see my own breath. Indoors, mind you. It's like tyhis every winter and every winter I am so fucking miserable. I kept thinking this wasn't meant for me. I don't need to be here, in this place where my hands & feet are so cold they hurt. I fought tears all day.
I keep feeling like this isn't me. I wasn't born in the right time or place. This isn't my skin, this isn't my body--it can't be! How can this fat ugly body be mine? I feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin and go somewhere--anywhere else.
As always, soon the stinging behind my eyes turns to rage that I do not conceal. I cuss out loud and while I do not throw things I may perhaps, things down loudly and such. I cannot contain it. The frustration eats me alive from the outside. I curse myslf for thinking of what could have been, other choices I could have made. Why do that? It's not going to make me any warmer, any happier.
Soon, I'm fighting back tears. I hate this place. I hate this job. I hate that even after 9 or 10 hours on the clock, I face another 5 or 6 when I clock out. Every winter I think it's going to be the one that breaks me. And yet I survive.
I'm so fucking tired. Exhausted. Tired of thinking about what could have been, what should have been. You stupid, fat, ugly cow. You fucked up everything! Nobody cares if you're cold.
I gotta get out of here. It's only been one very cold day, the first of many and it's already breaking me. I'm home now, alone and sobbing freely. This cannot be my skin.
I keep feeling like this isn't me. I wasn't born in the right time or place. This isn't my skin, this isn't my body--it can't be! How can this fat ugly body be mine? I feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin and go somewhere--anywhere else.
As always, soon the stinging behind my eyes turns to rage that I do not conceal. I cuss out loud and while I do not throw things I may perhaps, things down loudly and such. I cannot contain it. The frustration eats me alive from the outside. I curse myslf for thinking of what could have been, other choices I could have made. Why do that? It's not going to make me any warmer, any happier.
Soon, I'm fighting back tears. I hate this place. I hate this job. I hate that even after 9 or 10 hours on the clock, I face another 5 or 6 when I clock out. Every winter I think it's going to be the one that breaks me. And yet I survive.
I'm so fucking tired. Exhausted. Tired of thinking about what could have been, what should have been. You stupid, fat, ugly cow. You fucked up everything! Nobody cares if you're cold.
I gotta get out of here. It's only been one very cold day, the first of many and it's already breaking me. I'm home now, alone and sobbing freely. This cannot be my skin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
