Ranting

This year's 4th of July will be remembered for thunderstorms outside... and in. Poor Ruger is so afraid of thunder and lightening. At the first sign, he runs for cover. I would do the same if there was a desk in this house big enough for me to duck under. Speaking of big... Princess and I lost a combined total of 4 wopping pounds after our first week of pain (3 for her, 1 for me). How much does that suck... 7 days of pain for one lousy pound. Of course that doesn't count the 250 pounds of lieing dead weight that was also shed this week. Speaking of Pap...

In his typical manic depressive, passive aggressive fashion, rather than tell the truth and save his 25 year old marriage, he's checked himself into the hospital. For a blister on his foot. I know, my interior intelligent woman is just shaking her head and mocking me like crazy. Because I'm usually a nice person, I'm sure I will eventually drag up some compassion and make an attempt to understand whatever mental illness it is that makes him unable to admit he's made a mistake. But maybe I won't, because look at where compassion and understanding has got me so far. In the mean time, while I'm feeling bitchy and very mean - I'm using that energy to get some organizing done around this dump. All his little flotsam and jetsam into the trash. His weird trophies and collectables straight into a box and down to the basement.

A male friend once told me that the true difference between men and women is how they treat relationships. He said that men will dither and float, come and go before they actually throw in the towel. When a woman is done. She's done. There's no changing her mind. I agree with him to a point. Men start dithering at the first sign of trouble, and float back when the storm has blown over. Women are done when we say we are, because we've been working on the problems, and know a lost cause when we see one.