Truth Hurts

Cuz has been calling again.  Just as I had truth time with Vegeta and Slick, the hammer had to fall on him too.  The moron defense wasn’t going to work anymore, so I just had to go ahead and break the prime directive.  I spelled out why he won’t make an honest arrangement with his wife, and why he keeps coming back expecting me to be okay with scrambling for her leftovers.  He doesn’t value me as much, and this is okay.  I know my place.  It’s just that I’d rather opt out than play a game in which I know I’m a loser by default.

He made his decisions, and walks the path he chose for himself.  I walk the path I chose for myself.  I chose not to marry dishonestly.  He did.  His screw up is not my fault, and not my problem.  I have as much sympathy for him being trapped as he has for my being low value in his estimation.

I’m sure most guys can understand.  It’s like when a woman constantly complains about what a jerk her boyfriend or husband is, and yet she keeps going back to him after bleeding her grief all over you.  The only consolation I have is that, as a female, at least there’s some sex at the end as payment for my pointless therapy.  If I had no desire for intimacy, I’d be wading neck deep in dingaling.  As I am though, I have no motivation to listen to their sob stories about the whores they married.

Cuz’s wife tried to get him to sign over the house his parents bought to her.  Slick’s wife, I’m positive, attempted to poison him with foxglove or something similar.  His symptoms cleared up as soon as he stopped eating at home.  Yet they keep going back.

So whenever they call me trying to get back in, I really have only myself to blame for being desperate enough to fall for it in the past.  It’s just that for my future, I don’t need a guy who thinks I’m worth less than a woman who tries to steal from their children or poison them.  They’re just calling me to remind me how worthless I am to them.

In other news, I’m not selling at the farmer’s market at the auditorium anymore.  The managers made some kind of deal with the Greg cafe, and we’re no longer allowed to sell takeaway orders…and we have to tell people not to take the food into the auditorium.  Yeah right.

These are mostly older Jewish people who’ve been to hell and back.  I’m not telling them what to do with their money or their food.  I’m also not going to capitulate to a crappy cafe with terrible service and substandard desserts I wouldn’t even feed a rat I liked, much less a human.  So I’m taking normal orders again.  I like this better anyway.


My pronouns are whatever you're comfortable with as long as you speak to me with respect. I'm an Afruikan and Iswa refugee living in Canaan. That's African American expat in Israel in Normalian. I build websites, make art, and assist people in exercising their spirituality. I'm also the king of an ile, Baalat Teva, a group of African spirituality adherents here. Feel free to contact me if you are in need of my services or just want to chat.

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