Eye Am The Frog...

I've just been watching an old movie- The Crying Game- and had to write. Not much beer left in the 'ol stubby but I pretty much had an AFD yesterday- only three quarters of a beer- and I didn't start drinking until seven thirty tonight. That's not entirely my own doing; I wanted to earlier but my Son's friend Liam came over and I had to drop him home after dinner.

You should see what I've done to my thumb-nail. It hurts just to look at it- it's the worst it's ever been and I'm talking twenty six years of nail-biting herre. Even when it was hurting to bite it I didn't stop; I just kept on gnawing. And even now looking at it I could probably 'fix' it up a little with some extra trimming; adding to the damage- though it hurts just to touch it.

I heard a good little analogy on Life in this movie just now. I've heard it before but it's so right and true that I may as well write it down before I forget it again. It goes a bit like this...

There is this scorpion and this frog on a river bank. The scorpion wants to cross the river but he knows he'll die without the frog's help across. The frog knows that the scorpion will sting him and that they'll both drown. The frog- in his good-naturedness- risks taking the scorpion across because the scorpion promises he won't sting him; and yet they get half-way across and the scorpion stings the frog in the guts . As they are both sinking the frog asks the scorpion why he did it. The answer he gave was- because it was in his nature to do so.

The scorpion was compelled to sting the frog and couldn't exactly help what he did Because it Was his nature. And the poor frog; who against his better judgement took him on board anyway and risked his life and paid the price.

I know I am the frog; risking shit, putting my life in another's hands when I know it to be dangerous.

And my Hubby is the scorpion- full of good intentions at the start, full of promises not to harm but who cannot be beyond his nature. I see him now, asleep on the couch, snoring- holding his dick- and I am the frog.

He pissed the bed again last night and even though he washed the sheets he didn't apologise. He said he didn't feel sorry for what he had done.

Pissing on me.

He must hold me in such high regard. How embarrassed he'd be if he pissed at a mate's house; in their spare bed; yet he feels nothing to piss on me. It's a euphemism of how he must feel towards me. I wish I could put this into words for him, but he just takes it so lightly. But it's not funny. It was Never funny. It's downright disgusting and degrading.

The worst thing( it gets worse?) is that our Son woke up at four-thirty and saw and heard everything. What's he going to think of me and his Father when he's older? Worse still- I allow it. I took him to the pub. But I didn't smoke the cones or drink the bourbon that got him so trashed. It wasn't me who didn't wake up before they went to the toilet.

At least I didn't wash the sheets this time. He did- but he wanted me to congratulate him for doing even that. He's emitting more groans from the couch; the more I write the more I despise what he does and what it means. And stupid bitch that I am I still want to wake him up and go to bed where he may just piss on me again but where he may also scratch my back and be kind.

My Kindred Spirit told me that when she left her husband the main reason she left was because he wasn't the sort of father that she wanted for their kids. But We choose who the fathers of our kids are. And for better or worse they Are the fathers of our kids and always will be.

It's times like this that I want to speak to somebody. Anybody. Just to be heard or something. This sounds like a cop-out when I haven't called anybody for ages but I think it's because I don't want to give other people my shit. Everyone has enough shit of their own to deal with; and I know that if anyone got me started it'd just flow right out of my mind/mouth/bowels.

I'm talking deep shit- shit that nobody deserves to hear.

Shit that even I can't handle.