As I was going through his clothes, the putrid smell of joblessness was seeping out of his underwear. As the washing machine was singing the song of its people (program warm)... Damn. I cannot recall the last time I tried to suck the laziness out of him and my lips could not bear the cheese like substance that oozed out of his manhood. What a travesty. Which lips am I talking about really? Out of my teenage years, I grew something much more important than a political conscience. I grew a sense of self respect. Something that is beating deep inside of me. Kant, Hegel, Spinoza, Descartes, Camu who the hell care about them if not for the sake of name dropping during the socializing / shmoozing required to attend by the westernized social life events. No. Forget about this. I am talking about the ovaries required to accept a social contract that goes until death. That goes beyond health. That surrounds itself with a shroud of legitimacy, and now, this legitimacy is this faint smell of Scotch I can still distinguish whenever he mentions the name of corporations / institutes / NGOs he received a rejection e-mail from.
You recognize a lost soul when you can characterize 2mm spread of smegma in between your finger, you recognize it when your significant other does not even care about his browser history, both them illustrating how strata piles on top of one another. From liveleak beheadings to slavic adult entertainment, to... Is it worth spreading these calamities online? Do I have no shame into public shaming him?
Or, is it?
What have I done to deserve such a situation? Not so long ago, a family could anticipate a hard time and a wives could expect the help of other wives from the village. I wonder if Craigslist reserve a special place for individuals like me.
Enough is enough. I do not want to go through my existence with a human shell, this burden that does not deserve the husband label. I am through with this charade and I believe that out of my self respect, my understanding of who I am, and what I deserve... I am better than this.
I finally come through with my delusion. He is a shadow of his former self. As I was going through the routine of existence, I thought first that the problem was taking it roots from the social economic context of our lives. That inflation cannot be beaten by a couple like us. College graduates, mid twenties, average smart. But no. Our circles got out there, got jobs you know, serving coffees for a famous siren, tender to customer for this tire company (12 great months!), they at least got to taste the life of a suburban couple! I don't even get that! I still need to ride the bus! I am stuck there, waiting for my transfer route to happen as I am scrolling my social walls and activities there, I am struggling!
So. How can I stop rationalizing this. This. THIS. Where is the norm and where is the two deltas? Where is the over reaction and where is the insufferable?
Myredbook. I believe this is what triggered this outrage that is coming out of me. To not only cast me out of his "sensual life" but to seek comfort into other women is... So wrong. At first, I misplaced my feelings and emotions. I was the one who felt shame. I was the one who bottomed up and stopped seeking the warmth of my friends. I thought that I was the person to blame. He, on the other hand, still went to his baseball game, to his normal social events, he gets to go see the Super Baaaawl in the flesh while taking a $5k credit line from Bank of America. Consider my shock when I received the bank statement at our address from a branch that we did not even have in the first place?
And what about the $250 transaction every Friday?
In the confusion of my life, in the social fabric lays a dangerous man. He lays into the bottom of society, like a silent sub-routine laying dormant in the RAM. Like a parasite, his parresse, his laziness became the cancer of this society, spilling his unadulterated, unfiltrated desire into this world, like rust eating a peace of iron, derailing a train, like cancer eating flesh and bones into a malignant lump in your throat.
Yes, I am not this perfect individual. I am not perfect. I am far from it. I am this person that can learn, that can teach, that can observe. But I am not this person that can accepts these series of lies, omissions, betrayals like a postman accepting any letters, like a port accepting any rotten ships, like a city opening its walls to the bubonic plague. I am not that at all. I am much more than that.
But you see, my shame was expressed as an (awkward) silence. And my silence became my approbation to this derailed train. It was the kind of train wreck that you could have predicted. It was going very slowly over the hills. Hills which were steadily transformed into a cliff. And the worse is that my personality, my character, my jovial social outfit enabled such behavior. I don't like to make waves, I am the silent one, I am the one who accepts, who endures, who prefers the politically correct.
What an idiot I am. It took me a year before I could really digest all this. I think it started when the Feds realized that they had to take down this online scheme. It started when I found this paper on the back pocket of his jean where you could read To_The_Bottom_Of_It 3:15 Pm.