Ode to Joy
The D-Train #10
So normally I end this here newsletter with a song, but this week I’m changing it up a bit. This week was fucking MADE for Lizzo. I don’t want any arguments – before we do one damn thing more, everyone is going to click on this link and listen to three minutes of perfection. Lizzo, set the mood, bitch.
There, doesn’t that feel better?
So guess what fools? MY SUPER DUMB EX ACTUALLY MOVED OUT OF MY MOTHER FUCKING BASEMENT THIS WEEK.
I. Am. Freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
I feel like the rest of the newsletter can basically just be gifs from this point forward, no?
OK, I will stop now. Wait, just one more?
The basement troll is gone. Can I get a fuck yeah? Fuck. Yeah.
Here’s a funny coincidence. Sixteen years ago I met my husband the day before Halloween…guess what day he moved out? That’s some cosmic shit right there, is it not?
Ok, so, when I found out he was moving, the first thing I did was I booked myself an appointment with my town’s Bra Fit Expert (that’s an actual thing). I went to her store and I dropped like five thousand dollars on new bras. I’ve been wearing this disgusting, stained nursing bra that’s like four sizes too big for the past decade, and what the fuck else do you do when your basement troll is finally moving out? You buy yourself some bras, that’s what you do.
You know what else I did? I bought myself a goddamned mother fucking party dress. And I’m thinking I’m just going to lay around my house drinking champagne in it for awhile. FUCK. YEAH.
Aside from my creepy Skeletor feet, this forty-two year old mom is FEELING HERSELF.
I don’t allow myself a ton of moments to feel joy. In fact, his moving out actually comes at a time of particular tension in the custody case. I feel like we’re maybe super close to settling it, but maybe we’re also miles away. It seems like a lot might happen in the next two weeks (we’ve got court again in mid-November)…but then it also feels like we might not get anywhere and the judge has said a trial would not commence until at least March. Shit could drag on and on. Who knows.
In fact, I feel pretty fucking horrible almost all the time. I still wake up from terrible nightmares most nights, and then I don’t get back to sleep afterwards. In the past six weeks I have had strep throat, stomach flu, and a mysterious fever with no other symptoms. I’m dreading all the upcoming holidays, and being all alone. I worry about my kids in the right now, and I worry about their futures. I worry about money and bills I can’t pay. I worry about this fucking court case and all of the possible horrible nightmare outcomes it could bring. I worry worry worry
But today, I’m wearing a red sequin mini dress and a brand new bra with a whole shit ton of boob support. I’m getting the mother fucking locks on the doors changed. I’m blasting some Lizzo. And you know what else? I’m getting turnt up.
One more time – can I get a fuck yeah? FUCK YEAH.
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