I’m about to cross the Rubicon, metaphorically.
In reality, I have been crossing and recrossing a river in Arizona that looks very similar to the Rubicon (below), in an attempt to get my life in order once again.
Today is the day I tell my landlord for reasons 1) 2) 3) and 4) I expect to be released from my rental contract on August 31 with a pro-rated refund of August’s rent if I vacate early, plus all of my security deposit back.
I’ve become such a trouble-maker quoting the law (to be fair, I’m always a trouble-maker quoting the law) that I am 90% sure that they will gladly take the opportunity to get rid of me. It’s that 10% what-if that is making my gut grumble like an angsty teenager.
Like I need another fucking one of those around the house.
Noodles. I’ve been eating noodles and eggs and applesauce and toast and bananas.
Not together all at once, obviously.
This is not just because of my tumultous tummy but because I am trying to clear out my refrigerator. My daughter is a super-picky eater (she gets that from her daddy), but she’s not here so I have been eating anything that doesn’t smell bad.
Or, at minimum, walk away.
Saves money on groceries and I won’t have to move it later.
My ex-husband is going to help me move stuff like my TV and computer from my apartment into my parents’ house (on Sunday when they’re at church). And, oh yeah, a dresser to put my underwear in and a desk to file the alarming amount of paperwork that is generated when you ask the government for temporary assistance.
But mostly my TV and computer. Because… well… I love my computer.
The worst part is I am going to have to send back one of my cats to live with my ex.
My parents are not happy with the two that I have, but they are grandmother and granddaughter and the latter is still a kitten, so they relented on that point.
Apparently, three cats is one cat too many for my life right now.
I probably should have seen this coming, but I didn’t.
Still, my ex-husband will be good to her. Better than he would be to me, which is horrible to say. But I will miss her badly. And she will miss me.
Today is a sad day for me in other ways as well. First off, it is the birthday of a little girl named Tina who was born on August 8, to a life of poverty, abuse, disease, squalor, mental handicap, and terror. I met her while I was I volunteering with girls and I made it a priority to get her to every event, pay for everything she needed, make sure she never felt less-than. I bought her Christmas gifts and Easter gifts and Valentine candy and Halloween treats. I smeared her with ointments and chocked her full of vitamins whenever I saw her. I bought her an eegee’s every week (it’s a Tucson frozen drink) as I helped her with her spelling homework. I would have happily taken her into my home as my own child if her family had ever fallen apart like I constantly thought it would.
Then I got divorced and moved away, because I needed to take care of myself first.
I have some connections in the area still, and I ask about her when I can. I hope against hope that someone like me finds her again and that her life is better than what it was when I knew her.
So, wherever you are, I remembered what today is. Happy Birthday, Tina.
Also, this time of year hurts because on August 7, 2017, I had to completely cut off all contact with a friend because she wouldn’t stop yelling vulgarities at me in public.
She did this because she was mad at me because I wouldn’t compromise on financial documentation for the volunteering we both did, and because erotica that she wrote (we were business partners who first published on FanFiction.net and then Amazon) was… stunningly… truly… absolutely… terrible… and I couldn’t edit it into anything decent.
All of this was happening around the time my ex-husband was getting drunk and slapping me around. I started losing my hair and sleep-walking. Not a good situation.
I think I have this “twifey divorce” date on my Facebook page. I know it was a Monday.
At the beginning of our partnership, my friend and I would sing and laugh about the following song. Problem was, the song became a self-fulfilling prophecy. She wrote really bad romances (or more to the point, she wrote romances very badly), and then our relationship (although never sexual) because a bad romance as well.
So goodbye, Blondie. I don’t wish you ill. I just never want to talk to you again.
As for the poem, you can place it with Red for theme, but other poems for form.
I was a winter’s babe,
marked red and black and white.
my mother named me Snow,
but did not last the night.
another woman reigns now
on her throne, in her bed.
and though my father doubts,
his new wife wants me dead.
I sheared my raven locks,
I dressed up like a page,
I slipped out through the gate:
a bird who’d flown her cage.
her ire rumbles nightly,
green smoke from the tower.
I dare not rest too long
in any den or bower.
seven guards with wee arms
and pygmy swords as well
have followed me from home,
would follow me to hell.
I know, soon, it will end,
I must fight for the crown,
I bide my time, make plans:
to bring the Bad Bitch down.