Dear STBXH,
Here I still am: getting on with shit. As I just do. Whether that is the shit you put on my doorstep, or just shit happening. Or just me, coping, best I can to pass a turd, that is you, that refuses to be flushed out of my life.
And best I can, I'm learning about shit, and coping with flushing you out of my life.
As someone I can, not can't, remember who pointed out - sometimes the highlight of your day is having a very satisfying dump.
Sorry to be so crude.
But they do have a point.
I'm married to a turd. You stink. Everywhere I go, everything I do, is contaminated by you. It's like I'm constipated with my divorce.
I remain a sewerage worker.
Yet one who is welcomed by those who don't like prevailing smell.
Please, do fuck off now dear. You remain a unwelcome and unshiftable shit. One that just can't be flushed away.
In the interim, I deal with your shit.
And in the interim, I get on with shit.
And following a dump, I get on with my day.
Aside from my divorce, life is going okay. I mean, it's really going okay.
Still, sadly, unemployed.
But not useless. But rather valued.
Sorry 'bout that.
Woman, getting on with shit (but not you).