Considering it's Sunday, I should be commenting on only the sweet, spiritual and devine. Something light and uplifting. But that's not possible today, so feel free to wander on if you aren't in the mood for a rant. I'll understand.
I've written before about the problems with Grandgirls Mom, so will not rehash it. Since the baby was born, and we dodged a bullet, she has been diligently working to get her life together. Diet and exercise, she conscientiously cooks, cleans and takes care of her children. I can't ask more of her, and yet she even took one more positive step and enrolled in college, with classes to begin in January, and started counselling (in which she gets the same advice I give her, but from a stranger, which apparently holds more weight... I'm really not jealous, just commenting. Really.) She has not completely broken off with the scum sucking degenerate nasty monster that provided the sperm that created her kids. They are linked by the phone line, a phony umbilical cord snaking across the state. Now that she's removed herself from his physical battering, he uses the phone to beat up her mind.
Last night, with me, Pap and Princess here to babysit, she was invited out by some friends. One of the things her counsellor is pressing is the need to have friends in addition to family as part of her support network. She dressed up, fixed her hair and happily left with a group of the nice young people she used to hang around with before scum boy. She came home (sober) around 2:00 and talked about how much fun she'd had. And then the phone rang... minutes later she was sobbing. Again.
Me? I'd never tolerate anything she's been through. I'd hang up the phone, slam the door in his face... do what I had to in able to remove this kind of poison from my life. She thinks it's her fault (hence the need for a counsellor). We might as well be standing on two different planets. As for him - death is too good for mean, abusive, nasty men. Part of me knows that the divine has a way of taking care of these kinds of monsters and I should let this anger go. But the other part wants to be there when it happens, I want to see him suffering as much as he's made her suffer.
While I'm ranting: crashtest comic - of COURSE the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a tourist trap, if it was'nt, we'd call it a museum. Jeesh.