Hiss Boo
Disclaimer: If I happen to be married to you and you are reading THIS blog, you do so at your own risk. We talked about this, Dood. It may or may not be about you-you're taking your chances!
In a way, it is a blessing, because it helps the time go by faster, and anything that speeds up that process is a good thing right now. But I can see that this is going to be a problem in the future if I don't come up with a way to deal with you.
Deal with you. HA. Oh, how I've dealt with you in my head, you miserable, whiny little princess. Or, as a good friend once said, "Mr. Man, you are SUCH a woman." I fantasize about pissing on your toothbrush. In my dreams you are drowning and are reaching out to me and I act like I think you are waving and I wave right back at you and smile grimly and watch the look of horror on your face as you realize I am not grasping your hand and pulling you out, I am turning my back and walking away. You are a waste of valuable oxygen as far as I'm concerned.
You are such a fucking priss. Every time I see you my skin crawls. When you talk to me, it is like someone is standing next to my ear rubbing two pieces of styrofoam together, and JESUS H CHRIST you will fucking WORRY a damn point to DEATH. We REALIZE they don't do things this way where you come from. Which, by the way? Why do you feel the need, every time you mention that place, to emphasize which particular part of that state you come from? It reminds me of those pretentious people who say they are from "upstate New York" as though they were distancing themselves from anyone from a 'lesser' part of the state. But-that is beside the point. If things were so great there, why are you here?
It is a tangible thing, this loathing I feel for you. It has a thick, gritty texture, and it tastes like dirt and metal. It doesn't just annoy, it makes my heart twist because I am not used to feeling like this about another human being. I don't like the part of me you seem to bring out.
Couldn't you just go away?