5:21 p.m. - 2012-04-13
...Since a dead man can't say, "I was wrong" or "I'm sorry."
So when I say I'd like to shoot my husband or run him over with a truck -- I don't mean it, and if he turns up dead tomorrow it wasn't me; marriage to the jackass was jail enough for me and I don't want to waste the rest of my life in a real prison over him. What a pathetic little revenge murder is -- you get three seconds of terror when he sees the gun or the SUV (that's when you get your first, last and only, "Oops, sorry, honey") and for the the next 30 or 50 years, when any other spurned wife could still be exacting a slow and unrelenting revenge, your dirtbag cheating SOB spouse is sleeping peacefully in the clouds and singing with the angels. TOTALLY OUT OF REACH.
What do you do, stick out your tongue at the ceiling of your prison cell and say, "nyah nyah, you're dead!"
Right, like HE still cares.
I don't want to kill him; I don't really want to punch him and I don't want to even kick him in the nuts -- oh, wait, back up, maybe I do want to kick him in the nuts -- but I wouldn't want to break his nose or anything; I find violence pointless and sickending. (Somehow there is something about kicking a guy there that transcends banal everday brutality, sort of how I'm a vegetarian but I make a exception for seafood...)
All of this is a random train of thought stemming from the heartfelt statement, "I want to kill him," which I was going to write but then realized is not actually true (even though I have watched the Clara Harris video on youtube 455 times). (Not really -- maybe 15?)
I don't want to kill him and I don't even want to inflict bodily injury .... except to the you-know-what, if it can even be located ... maybe I can hire a thug with a microscope... Oh so juvenile!!! But I feel better now.
That's almost as good as him feeling a whole lotta pain.