art imitates life

or, ain't *that* the truth:

after a lengthy conversation yesterday and a wonderful brunch, i think the jury still isn't out. it's rather difficult to tell if the person who is dragging out a pointless fight they won't win is batshit insane, stupid, mentally deficient, or a combination of the three.

it's clear that what i'm going through is about *me*, not about the more important factors. me, and money. i'm flattered that i'm the apple of your eye, but after being apart for going on five years, it's getting to 'creepy' level. two relationships later, and i'm all you can obsess about? give it up, buddy.

the only thought i give to you is when i get more paperwork in the mail from yet *another* useless court motion. or when you inundate my email with your ridiculous childish rants intended only to provoke an argument. if you knew, if you *truly* knew how little i speak your name, or what people outside of your social circle *really* think of you, you'd tuck your shit-crusted tail between your legs and go slink off into a dark corner to lay around and moan until the woman stupid enough to marry you comes and licks your wounds.

you're a victim, all right. a victim of your own stupid actions. i thank my lucky stars *every* day for having the fortitude to leave you, to put up with your inane behavior, and to stick to what was right and most important.

i can't wait til the day you realize that everything you did was for nothing. because we both know it's not for who you *say* it's for.

but enough about you. i have more important things to do right now than talk about you, like laundry.