This post may seem a little dark. I'm in kind of a funk, and I've been drinking vodka pretty heavily for about an hour now, which is truly the only thing that a girl should do when she is in a funk.
I am supposed to be in Michigan right now. RIGHT. NOW. I should be lounging on the beach of Lake Michigan in Elk Rapids with a good book while Kylie splashes in the water. But nope, I'm not there.
I'm looking at the bright side. It's the Fourth of July, and traffic is terrible up there because everybody and their brother (and MY brother) was in Michigan this weekend. Am I the only person without plans for the fourth? This past week was so brilliantly screwed up. I had kept Kylie out of camp since we were supposed to be leaving mid-week, but when plans changed, I had no choice but to send her to Rat Bastard's for the week. My house is empty without her. Not that I have been home all that much, as I am going on my 14th day straight of working. I'm not complaining about the work part...at least I have a job to go to, right?! I just hate being home alone. I have quickly settled into this new routine of coming home to kids bustling in and out of my house. This week, I have made every attempt to get Kylie when I have enough time to hang out with her before racing back to the mall. She was supposed to be here tonight, but Rat Bastard bribed her by taking her swimming and promising more of the same tomorrow. I can't really compete with that.
I'm also slightly disturbed by conversations that I have had with Rat Bastard that hint at the upcoming demise of his current relationship. This is the chick that he was screwing while we were married and that he now has a kid with. I could really care less about his or her happiness, but I do care about Kylie's, and their breakup will undoubtedly be hard on her. Just when we start making some progress in therapy, let's throw another wrench in her little life, shall we? Could I please set Chuck on fire now? I wouldn't be missing a single thing; he hasn't paid child support since April, and getting anyone at DSS to return a phone call is the magical equivalent of my scoring a date around here.
But then, what am I complaining about? Guys are complete dirtbags. Haven't I realized this by now? I am almost finished reading Elizabeth Edwards' memoir, Saving Graces. It's really a fantastic book, and it serves as a subtle reminder that Elizabeth and I clearly have similar taste in the scum of the earth. Story of my life...devote everything to one guy who doesn't give a rat's ass about me in return. And she was hopelessly devoted to him; I can relate. Makes me honestly believe that I'm better off alone. Who needs to be continuously let down?
My glass is (half) empty. I'm going for more vodka.