NSS, in tribute . . .

Ha, fucking ha

Let our lives unfold in these unfortold fuckedup directions.

They will never overtake me, nor you. If there's any part of you that likes the blues, one last pitch for Amy. Amazing.

Here is my novella. Not all of it remains clear anymore, as dreams have the tendency to do.

My sons are asleep in their room, pee in his room, my husband in this room with me. I look back over the last six months. What am I to do with it? What kind of fuckery has this been?

I remember being suprised in mid December when princess showed up at the house with a bizarre stupid monster truckload of stuff, mini fridge included. I remember asking my husband, why did she bring all of her dorm room stuff here? To my knowledge, we had an honest relationship. I had no reason to question his answer, which made no sense to me, but I filed it away within myself as a lack of my ability to understand something that should have been commonly understood. "She's hoping to get a rommate." Was that a lie? No, it was not. Did it confuse me, confound me, make me doubt myself so that I did not understand and did not know what was to follow the next weeks? Yes, it did do that. To me. To the persson that yes, has been a giant pain in her ass and his. Sorry.

It became apparent that that there were many, many conversations between him and her, for who knows how long, that she would use my house as her crash pad while recovering from surgery necessitated by her need for adoration from others, WATCH ME JUMP, WATCH ME LEAP, WATCH ME SPREAD MY LEGS OVER AIR. WATCH ME. Watch me, you dumb bitch. You want to see female power? Your step mother could have been a good teacher, a ha. Nevermore.

It's all sort of hard to actually remember, my relief is a form of deliverance for me. It's like a nightmare receding. It was delivered to me in such parts and parcels by my husband, the seeds of the idea of her engineering an apartment. I do not know still, nor will I ever, where this idea came from.

Rumors and whispers became concrete to me within two days of my knowing anything of them, that tells me there were lies all the way through. I am your wife, I may be fearsome, I may be psychotic, but I am no one to be afraid of or to lie to. Not me. I am your safe zone, you are supposed to be mine. I trust you. (And no, I'm not, despite my presence here on this site, psychotic. I am, however, fucking pissed on so many levels at so many mutherfucking things, I can let it fly).

So there is mostly a blank here. I found out from a well placed deliberate last minute calm text from him that 'they' were going out to lunch with his mother to discuss princess's college plans. OK. It was only through my intuition that I gleaned what was actually occurring. He won't lie to me directly. He will put things a certain way, not say things, and let me land where I do, knowing where that will be because he's brilliant and I have always trusted him implicitly. No, suh, not no more, yassuh, massahh!

There were so many layers involved uncovering the the nature of the understanding he, his daughter and I only Pray To God, his Mother, that I was excluded from. I am still traveling behind the circus, picking up the pieces, viewing the stupid gypsy wagons as I always have, hoping to feel the fire of the dawn I can see.

I feel sorry for her roommate. Preyed upon. princess has done nothing but play upon that girl. Her roommate is sweet, I can tell. Well raised. Her brother helped princess, and her boyfriend did, too. Did princess, little model chick, have a boyfriend to help? No. Why is that, folks, this little model of a cunt? Shouldn't she have had hoards? No, no not one dumb boy except of a geeky character the DAY AFTER when nothing was needed other than a hapless person to accompany her to the wicked abode. That abode, being, MINE.

She wanted it under cover ops. She did not think I would show up home with my kids wile she was having her way with my house. I did show up, with my kids. She wanted to go grocery shopping, she wanted her ruese through my house. I interuppted, so sorry you asshole.

I can't devolve into the details yet, I am trying to survive post traumatic stress. Need to let my nightmares out as I can handle them, ya know.

That mutherfucking bitch, this is MY HOUSE.

It is a place of protection, she tried to make it into something else. It has cost me so much to preserve it. I am so worn out so driven beyond crazy. A house is a haven, there must be one place on this earth one can go and rest safely.