Okay, so here’s the deal: My ex moved three hours’ drive out of town a couple of years ago. His job requires him to work way too much, and so he can’t see the kids every other weekend like he’s supposed to. Add to this the fact that he doesn’t want to drive 12 hours every weekend that he does have them, so he moves into my house and I have to move out. At my cost. As my mother so eloquently put it, I have to pay to leave my own home. When their dad does take them to his place (actually, only one of them because he doesn’t have room for both) he expects me to drive half way to meet him. At my cost.
From the time he had the kids last, to the time he has them next, I will have had them for 5 weeks (four weekends). My dilemma is this: do I start drinking wine now? And if so, should I try to have any of the 20 bottles I have in my basement left by the time I get another weekend off (at my cost)? Or should I just throw up my hands and drink the lot?
My life seriously fucking sucks sometimes.
The Daily Post asks: If you could be a “fly on the wall” anywhere and at any time in history, where and when would you choose?
I’ve never been big on knowing people’s secrets. I remember the first time I was told a secret that I had to keep – I was about 5 years old (I’m one of those weird people who remembers huge details of their childhood) and I was given the secret to keep of a surprise party. Even then I understood that it would be rotten to tell the person whose party it was – because it would ruin it for them.
With secrets comes responsibility.
I’m not one who needs to know everything. I don’t gossip; I get no pleasure out of learning other people’s misfortunes, nor to I wish to add to them by telling others who have no business knowing about them. Why do we keep secrets? Many if not most of the time it’s because we’re ashamed.
With secrets comes grief.
And then there are the secrets we keep tucked away because they are special to us. Happy, intimate moments we share with loved ones that would lose the element of preciousness were we to tell even one other person.
With secrets comes contentment. I’d never want to ruin that for someone else.
So to be a fly on the wall would be a horrid experience for me. And knowing my luck, I’d meet my end on the back of a fly swatter anyway.