It’s afternoon but feels like morning. Pouring rain sounded so nice through the screen door,
but it's over now
Last night ran into Roy Craft and wish I hadn’t.
If it weren’t for the alcohol and xanax I would’ve spoken the minimum and
He’s my ex-brother-in-law.I married a 19 year old girl within a month of divorcing his wife’s sister.
It’s been less than two years.It was an awkward situation.
Roy Craft the third is an educated good ole boy from southwest Alabama.
Fraternity alum, a breeder and jam band fan;
I never fit their family vibe,
More often than not I opposed it.
I asked him if everybody was mad at me.He said “Pretty much”
then after a little masculine giggle tells me
“Well Kyle the way I see it is you made a covenant and you broke it.”
I retorted with, what do you mean I broke it?
He replied with “when you got with that other woman.”
That other woman’s more of a problem than Roy Craft.
Married her in a fat, morbidly obese, judge’s office in east point Georgia.She pushed for it.She was obsessed with whether or not I was the reincarnation of a dead pop star.
She keeps me awake when I work crazy hours. Pushes bottles in my face then gets right up in it
and interrogates me, trying to initiate past life regression;
conjure evil spirits from
all the hate for her I hide
in my heart.
Recently during one of our nightly drinking sessions
I stepped off the porch to piss, she threw a bottle
Hit me in the back of the head
I threw it back.
I’m not in a good place. She’s moody, slothful, capricious, narcissistic, conniving, needy, passive-aggressive, bashful, resenting, self-obsessed, anxiety-ridden, manipulative, addicted to shopping, can’t come without a vibrator and I know it’s not my fault.
She’s a terrible housekeeper. Constantly wants take-out and comfort things, piles of thrift store clothes--that don’t fit--clutter the house along with empty bottles, take-out containers, cigarette butts and broken dishes.
I’m a terrible husband
Learning a horrible lesson.
I’ve been coerced by her mental illness driven aimless plan-less from place to place
She still believes a new set up might work, that her legion of phobias and neuroses might not catch up with her on the bullshit greener other side of the same goddamn brown hill.
I see what I won’t face
Namely this: Everything we touch turns to
Right now she’s still sleeping,
the afternoon rain turns into steam; acid stomach, itchy greasy hangover sweat.
I feel guilt and dread. I am not sure why.
I could suffocate. I could withdraw into the loneliness that has surrounded me my whole life. This relationship is the most crowded place I have ever been.
I despise her. She is not good.
But, neither am I.