Fuck it, I lost count.

The cycle.  That’s what the therapist says, cycle with a meek little smirk.  I supposes he’sidiot the one with the Masters and I, well, not so much.  Could there be truth to that?

Probably.  All you need to do is put enough quarters in the crap ass washing machines at the laundromat and they’ll keep going, even if they wash for shit.

Masters or not, the cycle has begun and even I, the one and I quote, who knows “very little about substance abuse” can see the impending doom (per the estranged addict husband – funny shit right!).

Like that of the ill-fated basket of clothes you just put in the front loader.  That delusion clean clothes will emerge even when you’ve over loaded the mother fucker and shoved that bitch ass door shut like an over filled piece of luggage you sit on to zip closed.

Just put it on heavy duty cycle.. it *will* come out clean, right?  Right.

The damn therapist also handed me a book on writing, told me I should keep writing.  At least once a week.  I failed, I find humor in that too but I’m writing tonight so quarters or not I’ll pat myself on the back. 

Back to cycles..(in full disclosure, this was *not* the cycle the therapist was alluding to.  In psychology,  there is probably deep meaning to my avoiding.  I’m just waiting on my chicken tenders to finish heating up in the toaster oven… shit, there ago passive aggressively avoiding…again.  

But hey… cycles and all.

Can we guess who’s drinking, AGAIN?  Oh hell ya, that would be Kleo.  Yes, the same one who is living at the transitional housing that he’s not *allowed* to drink at.  Guess that whole sobriety thing got in the way for him…again. 

We should all place bets on when the next online drug that isn’t a drug order but makes him psychotic and break peoples hands, ante in anyone?  (true – he ‘allegedly’ broke a cops hand at the VA Hospital last drug spree while living at moms house because she *had* to help him, he only needs help, just ask)

World beware, he’s back to drinking and even though I got a scathing email on how little I know about anything and god knows being a child of an alcoholic I know absolutely *nothing*.. about alcoholism.

What I do know is this; How long before he hurts another person in drug, alcohol or combo of both, psychotic induced state?  It happens every time. Every.single.time.

I can’t tell you how mother fucking awesome it is to know that the person who tried to push you out a closed window, held your neck so hard that you had broken blood vessels in your eyes and has a list of innocent humans he’s hurt in this state.  How awesome it is to know he’s back in the game.  And how sad it doesn’t matter where on earth he would be, that fear sticks with you, it becomes a dark dance and the fabric of your being.  You make friends with it but it never goes away.

Life free of remorse for the growing list of physical assaults on the ones he claims to think he loves and the poor random people unlucky enough to cross his path.

How many times do I need to say don’t contact me asshole.  You made your choice.  I made mine, I don’t want to end up dead next time.

Here are some quarters, go take your drunk…soon to be drug using self and find a front loader.  It will help absolve the guilt not felt.

When I was a child, that child of a drunk Mother in the 80’s – made my estranged husband abuse issues looks like a two year old throwing a fit ove not getting what he wanted and acting out.

I guess there  is a learning curve after all.

I’d hide in the dryer, not the washer as child.  Hiding from my drunk mohter.  Guess I didn’t have life shit on by substance abuse I needed washer vs. the dryer.

What’s one more night of being afraid of the one person who took vows to honor and protect…

Here is a roll of quarters.  They work just as well at the packy as they do the laundromat.

I guess that’s something.


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