Did you hear about the woman who was mad enough to leatherwork?
Fuck, she was even mad enough to return to eljay. But more on that in a future entry.
I’m divorced, or near enough. Wouldn’t at all be surprised if divorce paperwork is what the “soon-to-be” ex-husband spends his tax return on. I couldn’t possibly ask him. I’m currently feeling anger like my heart is roasting in an inferno. Maybe I’ll jog, later. Or make tentative steps towards more employment. Yuck.
I’m not the only divorcée I know, but damn. I would not be at all surprised to learn every mousy woman I’ve ever met above the age of 50 has husband(s) in her rear view mirror. But I also know a few who fucking thrived post-marriage, and I think anger might be their secret.
My “big sister” from way back in college days was one of them. Her husband confessed he was fucking a subordinate at work and she was fueled with enough fire to birth 1,000 phoenixes. (I dearly hope she’s familiar with Jean Grey’s story, come to think of it.)
She didn’t wallow. She cried and cried for months, but they were hot tears and she was usually too busy to indulge them. She was busy, and she was a different woman in a different body- literally. She just full out stopped eating a lot of bad-for-you shit, and suddenly the 60 lbs she had dearly wanted to shed to return to her youthful body was gone. As was several weight-related health complications. She visited old friends and made new ones, she parented her children and bravely faced new challenges at work and so much else.
She’s thriving. Skinny. Angry. Fierce. Don’t need no man, no woman, no nonbinary/thirdgender either. Her life is FULL. She even has a cat! Just one, because Crazy Cat Lady is not her spinster-shtick.
It might be mine. We’ll see what happens when I get my own space.
For now, after so much moping, so much depression, so much dragging down on me, I finally feel the fire of anger coursing in my veins.
Yes, it’s aimed at the ex. I’ve been waiting to finally feel this towards him, but, ugh.
I may draw it as a comic before I get it down on a page any other way. Or maybe I’ll just use this anger without identifying the source.
Either way, I figured out the next part of making my own custom moccasins, and that’s very fucking sweet.
Also, I missed Livejournal. And since hubby hasn’t used it in at least a decade, I can call him some name that’s entirely my own. His eljay name is dumb.
There. I said something mean about my ex on the internet. Maybe I’ll feel better in a few days. Or maybe I’ll bust out my first major leathercraft on the heat of this beautiful anger. It isn’t rage, it isn’t annoyance. She/They/We Mad.