How Different Every Hour is from The One Before

jon fosterWhen I was two years old, my parents were divorced. My father was a delusional man who thought the cysts on his head were a crown from Jesus, that he could decode the bible, that he knew where the holy grail was… and of course, that witchcraft and homosexuality were Of the Devil.

Being that my mother was a lesbian, that didn’t work out so well. She was told if she fought for custody, he would tell her family, ((11 brothers and sisters, and a very old-fashioned mother, )) that she was gay.

She didn’t fight, he won, he told everyone anyway, she was largely disowned.

He was a terrible father.
In retrospect, I can see the abuse, but at the time of course, things were as normal as they could be seen to be as a child, but the memories I do have, laced through with gaping voids of blackness, are tinged with eeriness, a drab, strange sort of feeling… the feeling of nightmares in which you can’t exactly tell what’s wrong, but there is a lurking dread that skirts the corners.

Maybe it is because I consider this feeling to be a normalized experience, that I have constantly run into more ‘socially unsavory’ characters in my life.

Men I meet are rarely attending Yale, though I have met quite a few business owners.
Unfortunately, each one, from the genius, to the resort owner, to the ex-drug-dealer have all had their fair share of unresolved emotional and mental baggage that has superseded all hope of rational, mature relations between two parties. What’s worse is I tend to stick around because I know I am one Tough Lady… Wallace stock and all that, you know… So I choose to stick out at first, because everyone deserves a chance, and of course I will admit it…the ‘superhero syndrome’, you know the one.

I’m ‘Queen Rehabilitate A Motherfucker’.
Excuse me while I gather my bottom, I seem to have laughed it quite off.

So because I am so transient, I come into contact with lots of different guys.
There was a efa29c0cfe80254a020387f3c76f4924fellow I met once, I will dub him Mr. F.I. ((fucking insane)) and this fella was a piece of work. Once I revealed to him that I had mental health issues, slowly he began to develop them as well. I had let him pet-sit my degus and things while transitioning to a new place… but found out my things had been put outside in the ghetto, and he had killed my pets and kept their skulls.

I’m not sure if I can believe someone would be that cruel, however he was pretty out there, had body modifications and such but it seemed more to show off than for a reason.

He wanted to pursue a BDSM style relationship with me and I was 100% not attracted to him in the least. I considered him a dumb giant, but I suppose watch out for dumb giants when they get angry.

On a fun side note, when I was younger, I dated a fellow who wasn’t legally short enough to be considered a true midget, but his 4’10 to my 5’11 was a pretty unusual sight to folks around town. He ended up having a temper tantrum and throwing a vhs camera recorder at my head, so I threw a psychology book at him. How awfully ironic.

The next unfortunate incident was after hitch hiking across the country.
I was rooming with a technically-e494840d5cfc5901b0593895759c33ea0x boyfriend of mine, Mr. Snowshoes, who was increasingly heated about wanting to be with me again.
We got into some silly tiff and all of a sudden I’m being choked and boffed about the face.
I ended the whole affair by crawling my little bottom right to the neighbors porch, bloody nose, lip, and full of tears and shock, poor things must have been absolutely terrified when they saw me.

I went from that one straight into the arms of Mr. Scootercat a few months later, who eventually ended up clocking a chunk of tooth out of my head, unfortunately still left unresolved today.
Ironically the body feature he claimed to love the most about me!
These men always at least leave me with something to laugh at, if nothing else.

I’ve noticed in every case of violence or anger or hateful behavior towards me, there is a propensity to try to make me feel as guilty & demoralized as a woman as possible.

I suppose that is one of the perks to dating foolish men… their sharp words are also quite foolish and don’t really cut well.
However, why a man would want to try to demoralize a woman at all is strange to me. Is it an foolish primitive instinct to discourage females from mating?
Is it a primitive fear of females mistreating men if they were the ruling social and political majority?

((Maybe if our pussies can never be satiated, our thirst for power will never cease, Ha!!))

The same goes for the whole breast feeding thing… I believe the people who object to it are either prudes to the Nth degree, or are jealous and secretly totally want to be suckin’ on that titty… and if they can’t, ain’t no one can.


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