Wednesday
November 11, 1998
I know that *I* have.
Well. Have we all quite recovered from that last journal entry??
Here's the thing. Writing that entry was the singularly most cleansing, healthy, necessary, anti-bacterial, sanity-making thing I've written since "Lies The Bottle Told Me." It was the cyber equivalent of squeezing a zit: you know you're not really supposed to do it ... you're afraid it's gonna hurt ... you're afraid you might be left with another ugly scar afterwards ... but you do it ANYWAY, and you're thoroughly disgusted with yourself (yet oddly fascinated by the amount of STUFF that pops out). Afterwards you can pat a little Maybelline on the inflammation, and life goes on, and nobody really *sees* the scar but you (unless you point it out to the entire universe via your WEBSITE, forcryingoutloud).
There is absolutely nothing I can say in my own defense here. I go back and read the chronology now, as I presented it to all of you, and I am absolutely stunned by the stupidity of it all ... by the amazingly tangled feats of duplicity involved ... by the fact that I didn't give three-quarters of a shit if I was destroying two families ... by the fact that I went back to this loser, over and over and over and over again, for more abuse ...
... so let's just say that sometimes I even surprise MYSELVES with this website.
(Ten weeks ago I would frantically be reaching for a beer right now. Instead, I stir the Sweet 'N Low into another cup of Fast Lane Tea ...)
Here's the other thing. Simply coming to the realization that I was a factor -- a factor, mind you: I had a willing co-conspirator -- in the emotional annihilation of a lot of innocent people wasn't enough for me. Specifically: I have felt, in recent days, that I owed a huge apology to The Doc's wife.
So I wrote to her.
Again, it was one of those tough terrible things you don't want to do ... like getting a vaccination, or putting your poodle to sleep, or going out to lunch with the Temp Agency Rep ... but you do it because you know it's the right thing to do. I wrote to her and said, "I am sorry for all the hurt I've caused you the last three years." (I also asked for that Mad Magazine baby photo of me back ... the one where I'm wearing one shoe and you can see my underpants ... but that was merely *cover.*) To my amazement and admiration, she wrote me back immediately. We have spent the past couple of days "comparing notes" and working through a bizarre healing process neither of us could have ever expected.
SecraTerri: " <---- not The Enemy"
Patti: "<-- not the Psycho Wife from hell"
We tracked the pattern of lies in mutual amazement. He told her we "didn't have sex in Chicago" (that's right: we played Yahtzee) ... he told me he was going to "pay for the divorce when he finished the obesity book" (that's right: as soon as he finishes that Ding Dong) ...
(I can just smell those irritable bowels constricting in PA right now.)
Making amends with someone I horribly wronged, of course, is all a part of my DEVIOUS, CONNIVING plot to become a better person, and to get past a particularly shameful episode in my life ...
... and to clear the way for the new relationship I am entering ...
... a relationship I haven't really talked about much on the website, mainly because
1. It's too new
2. It's too wonderful
3. I've been too busy
4. I don't want to ALARM any of my Dear Readers by actually appearing HAPPY ...
... but I promise I will write about it. Soon. Right after I come back from California. Again. (She beams.)
