Me And Fireball

got a good thing going on.


Unfortunately, it looks like our relationship is almost over.

Yes, I’m drunk.  What’s your point?

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Lest I Hope

Remember Wifey? Number four, whom I married in 2011, who returned to her native Ukraine less than three months after the marriage took place. Who finally completed the immigration process and returned in January of this year.

She and I have kept in touch. Before B, we talked reconciliation. After B, we talked. A possible reconciliation attempt came up, down the road after I get over B. Assuming that I ever do. She and her son helped me move stuff into the new house on a couple occasions.

In fact, after helping this past weekend, they stayed at the new house. The plan was to help me get it cleaned up, get unpacked, and generally settled, since FaucetCompany gives me so little time off. I appreciated it. They are sharing a bedroom at the opposite end of the house.

They have been very helpful. And I admit that I had hoped for a reconciliation. She’s a good woman. Better than I deserve. But I’ve made no moves in that direction. I’m not over B, not by a long shot, and I just don’t feel that way towards her. At least not yet. I figured that would come in time, after I recovered from the loss of B. No hurry.

Yesterday morning when I got home from work, she told me that she needed to talk. She told me that she didn’t feel anything towards me romantically, and she didn’t want me to misunderstand or to get my hopes up for something that will almost certainly never be.

Well, at least I’m clear on that, and I don’t have to worry about when I might start to have those feelings for her again.

But I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t hurt a little. Because I had hoped to eventually put B behind me, and a while after that, maybe try to rekindle something with Wifey. It wouldn’t be ideal, but maybe we could have taken care of each other on some level, and be reasonably content in the process.

But, alas, no.

21 January 2015. The day my sex life died. Rest in peace.

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Fuck Motorola

and their piece of shit moto-g phone.

In the time that I’ve had it, it has gotten progressively slower. No, I haven’t loaded it down with apps. Yahoo mail sometimes takes as much as a full minute from the time I click on the notification icon until it will display an email. But that’s minor, really. Annoying as shit, but most of my important email comes to a different address. And the normal email app works reasonably well. So far.

I almost snapped the fucking thing in half tonight. I needed to make a payment. The company that I needed to pay has an automated phone system to process payments. It took five attempts to complete the process.

I placed the call and activated the keypad, as normal. As I started through the phone tree, the display kept blinking on and off. This caused me to miss numbers, mis-enter numbers and select the wrong option, or delay things long enough for the system to time out.

And it’s not time based, either. The display went blank and came back on several times within a ten second span. I swear, it was watching me and when my finger got two millimeters from touching the screen to enter the next number in the sequence, it went blank. Then it came back on almost immediately after I touched the screen. Just to go back out when I reached for the next number.

It’s not exclusive to the dialer app either. It did the same fucking thing when I tried to go through the process using Skype.

Obviously, I’m looking for a new phone.

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It Was Bound To Happen

Yesterday morning, as I was leaving work, B texted me.

I know, you’re sick of hearing about her. I’m sorry. I’m sick of hurting.

She sounded borderline suicidal. And I wanted to talk to her. So I did. It seems that less than a month into her marriage, things aren’t going so well. Not that that came as a surprise to anyone. Here’s most of her side of the conversation:

I think about you every day. I’m truly sorry.

My heart hurts because I know I messed up the best thing I could have ever had. I thought I was doing the right thing and I will pay every day for my mistake. I hope life treats you good and you find all the happiness in the world.  I really do.

I’m not happy and I will never be. It’s just not in my cards.  I drive by your beautiful house and the times I see your car in the yard are the worst.  If only I could turn back time.  I won’t bother you anymore.  Good luck in life and I love you always.

(Eldest Daughter) asked about you just last night.  She said my dad never does anything with me but I bet (Grumpy) would have.

If only writing could make my heart feel better.  I long for your kiss, your touch – things I’ll never get again. 

It’s all my fault.  I dug my own grave and it’s my time to lay down in it. Please have happiness in your life.

They (her daughters) had the whole world and so did I, and I threw it away because I didn’t deserve happiness. Seriously I’m sorry. I hope you find love and happiness.

God I miss you so much.

Part of me wants to gloat. But only a tiny part. Mostly, I’m heartbroken. I loved her with my entire heart and soul. I still do. She’s broken, and I couldn’t help fix her. I know it’s over. No second chances.

But, God help me, I miss how she made me feel. I want to hold her in my arms just one more time. A chance for the face to face goodbye that I didn’t get when she left.

Is this how love feels? Whatever it is, it fucking sucks.

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Progress on the house continues. Over the weekend, I moved my bed from the old house, allowing me to sleep in my own bed yesterday. The mattress that I had been sleeping on is on a proper frame in the spare bedroom.

The kitchen is mostly clean and organized. Most of the clothes are either on hangers or folded and stacked on closet shelves, since I still don’t have any bedroom furniture except for the bed.

The stuff in the office is pretty much in place, but still in boxes. I have to slide the safe down the hall and into position, and I need to buy a file cabinet. After that, it’s just a matter of unpacking.

I haven’t started on the reloading/prep room. I really need to repaint first. Green and pink just isn’t a proper color scheme. I’m thinking Dillon blue.

The outside, including the driveway and the french drain in the front await my attention as well. At least there’s no exposed framing or insulation.

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If He Died Today

and tomorrow she wanted to come back, I’d probably welcome her with open arms.

The last twenty-four hours have been extremely difficult for me. I’ve thought about her a lot – pretty much every waking minute. I’ve looked at the pictures over and over. I’ve read back over the messages that we exchanged during our last two months together. I’d have gone back to the beginning, but mobile Messenger won’t go back that far.

We fought more than we didn’t. She didn’t appreciate or value things or people the way that I do (or at least the way I try to). I’m very relieved that I won’t be helping to raise two little girls. The list of reasons why we shouldn’t be together is almost long enough to be a novel.

But when it was good, it was SO good, and worth every moment of stress and heartache.

God, I miss her! I thought I was done crying over her. I was wrong.

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Bits and Pieces

It’s a sad state of affairs when a nine hour shift is cause to celebrate. Dayshift production on my machine was canceled yesterday. This meant that I was allowed to leave after the third shift run was complete. When I punched the clock at 0830 instead of my usual 1130, I felt like I had won the lottery.

It was only the second day in over a month that my shift was less than twelve hours. And 26 February was the only day that I have had off during the past thirty days. Yes, I’m feeling a bit of burnout, and not the fun kind caused by melting rubber on asphalt.

I made the most of my extra time. First, I ate breakfast. Real breakfast food. The kind that they stop serving before I usually get off work. Then I got a haircut. She did a shitty job, but that’s what I get for going to the hair salon inside of wally world instead of driving downtown to my normal barber. At least now it’s off my ears and collar.

When I got home, I hung the blinds in the five rooms that required them. I also did some cleaning and reorganization of my office.

I’m waiting for my self install kit from the phone company to arrive so I will have unlimited Internet again. It was supposed to happen on Tuesday, but there’s been some confusion. According to them, someone else already has active service at my address. I’m not sure who or how, since I’ve either owned it or had it under contract since October 2014. It was a Fannie Mae foreclosure that had been vacant for at least a year before then.

I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come. I have a line on an alternate provider (thanks TCA) and if these guys don’t pull their heads out of their asses by this time next week, I’m going elsewhere.

I am off this weekend, and I have help lined up to move my bed, my reloading stuff, and the rest of the odds and ends from the old house. Then, the fun will really begin: Opening boxes and finding a home for everything. At least I have plenty of room to put stuff.

In other news, social media sucks donkey balls. Yes, I know. That’s not exactly news.

I’d gotten to where I was only checking the book of faces a few times a month. Then B came along. She lived on social media, so my involvement increased.

My usage tapered off drastically after her exit, but that wasn’t enough. Yesterday, I got some push back on something I posted, and some things that were still there from my time with B. The person meant to be helpful, but it was all I could do to refrain from telling her to go fuck herself.

I’m already stretched thin physically and emotionally, and I am not in the mood for any shit from anyone, even if it is meant as constructive criticism. My solution? Avoidance. I simply won’t post shit there.

On the entertainment front, I’ve been reading a fair amount of “erotic fiction” recently. Shut up. It’s a diversion. And it’s not like there’s much hope of me actually getting any in real life. Unless I solicit the services of an independent provider of carnal gratification. So I live vicariously through the fantasies of some really twisted people.

Most of the stuff on the free sites is utter crap. Unrealistic, written on a fifth grade level, and massive overuse of words like turgid for starters. But there are a few gems if one has the patience to search for them. Well, “gem” is a stretch, but “sucks significantly less” would probably be accurate enough.

They’re all fairy tales, where the guys are filthy rich, and the women actually want sex for the inherent pleasure, intimacy, and physical connection. Those lies are easy to believe. We all want to forget that financial challenges exist. Unfortunately, most of us have them. And every heterosexual male on the planet wants a girl like that. But we all know that the vast majority use sex for control or personal gain. The rest are irreversibly frigid. Except for the occasional rumor of a unicorn sighting. (No, I’m not bitter or anything. Why do you ask?)

How difficult is it to not run out of a chemical that 1] Is used daily, 2] The same amount (+/-5%) is used every day, 3] There are no lead time or availability issues, and 4] There is no problem with storage space or short expiration dates? Presumably, pretty damn easy. Today is the second time in as many months that we’ve lost a shift of production due to lack of this chemical. We always seem to be right on the edge of running out. I’ve emailed the engineer on multiple occasions, warning him that we have less than twenty-four hours worth left on site. Fucking idiots, I swear! It’s amazing that they manage to stay in business.

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