What a bad way to spend the last year of my twenties, devoting all my days to recovering from being yelled at and trying to do everything I can not to be yelled at each night. He says he can�t control it.
You know that scene in Poltergeist where the woman is running through a never-ending hallway that keeps stretching farther and farther even though she�s keeping the same pace? His anger management class is the doorknob at the end of the hall, three long weeks away.
Fortunately I think (hope) my coping skills are more developed than his. I let him vent at me while I make him a sandwich and caress him until he reaches satisfaction. Then as soon as I�m alone I escape with a dildo, my kindest lover.
It�s a long hallway, but I think she found the doorknob eventually. I�d rather dance through the hallway like Cyd Charisse, just to mess with the ghosts� heads. Jazz. Hands.
10:50 a.m. - 2009-09-24