Monday, September 30, 2013

Today I introduce you to my fucked up life . . .

I'm Sarah.

I live with my husband, our four kids, two cats, a guinea pig, a brand new kitten . . .

. . . and my dad.

My husband is my best friend, and he has been for many, many years . . . for much longer than we've been married, and for much, much longer than we'd been involved with each other in a nekkid way.

My older daughter is 15.  She and her 14-year old brother -- my older son -- are (really) the only good things that came out of my relationship with my ex, and are two of the reasons why I drink.

My ex and I are much better off as friends than lovers . . . though recently he's become my tennent, which is a decision that I regretted almost as soon as I'd made it.  He's another reason why I drink.

My younger daughter is 7.  She and her 8-year old brother -- my younger son -- are yet two more reasons.

Let's recap, briefly:  If there happens to be a list, and that list happens to be titled "20 Reasons Why Sarah Drinks", my four kids and my ex are reasons #16 through #20, in no particular order.

Reasons #1 through #10 . . . ?

My dad, who has lived with me for the past 5 years:
  1. My dad has COPD; specifically, he suffers with bullous emphysema.
  2. My dad has only one lung, which is nowhere even remotely near 100% function.
  3. My dad is an alcoholic, though he rarely drinks these days.
  4. My dad was an abusive bastard back when I was growing up, and I once hated him with a fiery passion.
  5. My dad is the most stubborn man (barely) alive.
  6. My dad is a mere shadow of the man he used to be . . . I mean, like, literally a shadow.  He only weighs about 100 lb. these days, and he was once a man for whom buying dress pants was hell, because the size that would fit his waist wouldn't comfortably fit his thighs and calves, on account of how muscular they were.
  7. My dad often cannot walk the 20 steps from his bed to his bathroom, so I'm often emptying his urinal and/or his bedside commode bucket.
  8. My dad often cannot walk the 6 - 8 steps from his bed to the dining room table, so I'm often serving him his meals in bed.
  9. My dad often cannot walk . . . when he does, he does so slowly, painfully, and breathlessly, and he usually only does so when he absolutely must.
  10. My dad is dying a slow, agonizingly painful death . . . and I have a front-row seat.
Reasons #11 through #15 are as follows:
  1. My brother (and his psychotic, cunningly manipulative, and mentally abusive wife).
  2. My dad's mother -- who is a cold, cruel woman, and for whom a special place in hell must be reserved.
  3. My dad's sisters -- who are the apples that didn't fall far from the tree, if you know what I mean.
  4. My mom and her siblings -- whom I love, totally and fiercely, but who drive me utterly bat-shit crazy (especially my mom).
  5. My husband -- whom I love with all my heart, soul, and body, but whom I sometimes think I shouldn't have married, because he is the youngest child of his siblings, and I am the oldest of mine -- and everyone knows that if you're an "oldest child" and you want to be taken care of -- rather than ALWAYS HAVING TO ACT THE ALPHA -- you simply DON'T marry a "baby of the family". 
This is Sarah in a nutshell.

Welcome to my life. 

Hop right in . . . the water is warm, but be forewarned that it might just be on account of all the piss in the pool.

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