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About Me

Name: Ambrrrr

Location: Ontario, Canada

blue eyes, crooked teeth, intellectual, goofball, slacker, socialist.

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From the ghost land of the easy life.

20 December 2007 i doesn't matter if I cry doesn't matter if I bleed : I ran into a girl I hadn't seen in over 4 years today. I recognised her even though she is a bit heavier then when I knew her before. She seems comfortable with it where as before she was a wee obsessive about being perfect and it was unbecoming. This time around her energy was so calm and I wanted to be her friend again, right then and there. She told me some interesting news. It turns out that my ex husband is dead. Wow, I came off like a giggling crazed maniac of glee. I always knew he would die soon and I didn't kill him, honest. I just figured, considering how he lived when I knew him, there were few possibilities for him unless he changed drastically; which he swore he'd never do. So he died. I don't know how, but I know when - October 12th, 2007. She told me he was sick. She told me he had an idiot girlfriend and that people felt sorry for him and his illness. I know what kind of sickness he had, it wasn't one of those you can officially feel bad for him kinds like cancer or something - he abused drugs and alcohol until it (or possibly someone else seemed likely too), killed him. I don't have to worry about running into him anymore. I don't have to worry about where I live or any of that. He's dead and buried, in a Christian ceremony the obit says - and I'm like a widow once removed. It made my day, which must make me the most horribly mutant person to ever walk the earth. Everyone seems to think it does. I'm glad that someone who treated me like crap isn't around anymore. I felt this way when my dad died too, like a giant weight had been lifted and I was free. It seems like an inappropriate reaction about someone I loved, doesn't it? Shouldn't I be sad and possibly do something to express condolences to his family? He's been gone 3 months. He lived 15 months past our divorce, I don't know if that's significant but I had to figure that out. I should worry about what she will tell people. She really likes to gossip, as do we all - but I know he was telling people I left because he was sick and I couldn't deal with it. True, but not for the reasons he would have given. He wasn't going around telling people he was eating boxes of robaxacet with a mickey of vodka every night, or buying oxycodone from people and eating it like candy. He was careful to make the illness nice and mysterious and guilt worthy. I mean would people feel sorry for him if they knew how he was making himself sick? Probably not, at least not me. Maybe I shouldn't have been excited to hear that he died. It seems in poor taste. I should have saved that for when I got home. Keep blogging. ghost writer Ambrrrr at 3:31 AM 0 Bright Shiny Things