I don’t run into her very often, but when I do I have this overwhelming urge to–I don’t know–choke the life out of her. I had to see her on all days, today. On what would have been our twentieth wedding anniversary. The beginning of my dead period, as I like to call it.
For the nine years that we were married, I’d listen to her bitch, and complain, and tell me what was wrong with me. Even after I tried like hell to make her happy. Hell, I even let her talk me into a operation because she didn’t like the way I walked. What the hell was I thinking?
I know it’s not really her fault that I can’t walk now, but what balance I did have disappeared after the surgery. On the other hand if I wouldn’t had it done, I might not have gotten a scooter that I use like a car, and would’ve be stuck in the house with no transportation once I move to Florida.
It’s why I’m still trying to figure out if my marriage was a good thing, or a bad thing.