Good riddance 2016

What an awful year, am I right? It was a nasty election followed by an even nastier outcome. We lost Alan Rickman, David Bowie, Prince, Mohammad Ali,  Carrie Fisher and many others. I had to endure a couple of rough months in red-state territory, which sucked beyond all reason.

I didn’t have as much drama with Clyde in 2016 as I’ve had in the past. It seems things are finally slowing down after six long years. However, I’ve learned to approach the situation differently over time:  Detect and avoid.

When Happy Boy goes to Mordor, my wonderful imagination is able to believe that he’s at summer camp where I can’t call or write to him. However, I know that at this pretend camp, he’s having fun playing in streams and feeding horses. Now that Happy Boy’s a teenager, he doesn’t need to speak with mom every day. It also makes it that much more exciting when he comes home.

I also made this decision to stop allowing the new wife to have access to me through my conversations with Happy Boy after I was told our calls were being recorded and listened to. She’s still intercepting my correspondence with Clyde; terrified that if we openly communicate, he’ll fall back under my spell.

I don’t know if she’s trying to become more like me or if Clyde’s trying to mold her into me, but either way, it’s super creepy!

Apparently, since she started dating Clyde, she started to like things that were special to Clyde and me. Things was were “ours,” like the Nightmare Before Christmas. Our wedding bands had the inscription “We’re simply meant to be” etched in them. She and Clyde went to Disneyland (without the kids) because that was “our” vacation place. “Their” restaurant, Fuji Sushi, used to be “our” restaurant. “Their” fishing spot used to be “our” make-out spot — and the location for our wedding announcement photos. She even moved 45 miles to the town where I was raised, a place where she didn’t know a soul, six months after she started dating Clyde. The apartment complex she moved to was on the same main street as I lived on. They used that as an excuse when Clyde was caught driving by my house on several occassions. When I brushed past BlahBlah at the courthouse (I wasn’t told that was her until later), she’d grown out her short pixie cut to my hair’s length. Her blond hair was dyed the same color as mine. Her glass frames look like my glass frames. She’s also told Happy Boy she’s been reading Harry Potter, with the knowledge that I’m a huge Potterhead.

So I left a sweet little montage online that any bored internet-stalker could find. A plethora of pictures showing the high points of my marriage with Clyde. Like I said, it was mostly bad but not all bad. There were honeymoon periods of brief happiness.

The pictures don’t bother me. They’re on an account I haven’t used regularly in almost a decade. However, I do know what it feels like to be haunted by Clyde’s past life. I understand how insecure  it feels to be with Clyde. I know he talks about me frequently. Even if it’s bad, he’s still talking about me and I’m sure it gets under her skin. Just as I’m sure my former monster-in-law has called BlahBlah by my name. All these things are reminders that I was once a part of his life.

So if BlahBlah’s stalking me, as I suspect she is, seeing happy pictures of Clyde and I kissing in Hawaii or Clyde giving me a piggyback in Disneyland will visually support the idea that our relationship wasn’t as bad as Clyde claims. That we did occasionally have fun. We were active sex partners. The same things he whispers in her ear are the things he used to whisper in mine. He used to give me piggyback rides and stroke my hair longingly. He used to tell me dark secrets about his family as we’d lie under the stars together, planning ways to escape Mordor.

Plus, as horrible as it sounds, this is my version of justice. She’s definitely not the good person I thought she might be. Personality-wise and physically speaking, she’s the spitting image of my former monster-in-law.

I guess some of Freud’s theories weren’t completely wrong after all.


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