TWITTER: Petty in BookThree: Flight Log 2016

At work… trying to keep my mind focused on either (1) pushing through the confusion and at least ORGANIZING my madness… I may not know what to do with any of it; but at least I’ll know where it all is… I suppose; or (2) just trying to keep myself distracted enough to keep my brain from caving in on itself with anxiety. Funny, sad, but true… when I got out of the shower this morning… my fingers hurt. Just the finger tips. On 7 out of 10 fingers. And I realized why. I’ve been biting my nails again. Obsessively, compulsively just gnawing. A sure sign of deep anxiety.

It is under that cloud of anxiety, panic, and gut-churning unpleasantness that I allow myself to enjoy someone else’s pain out of pettiness. Normally, even if I feel the tug, I don’t embrace it. Other people’s pain is pain; and few people really truly deserve the pain that floods them on a daily basis. Even ex-g/fs who I feel wronged me or hurt me or anything. They don’t deserve a more difficult life just because we didn’t work out. Honestly, what I typically think. But… being in the weakened emotional state that I’m in… I suppose, I’ll chalk this up to a momentary lapse of moral fortitude.

Do you folks remember Thompson? Ex-g/f of mine from College. Actually, I can say just that. “My old college girlfriend” because… technically, I only dated two people in college and I wound up marrying one of them. ANYWAY… Thompson… who I dated and care about a lot (and consider one of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever dated)… but who somewhat tried to play me off her HS ex? Not surprisingly, she married her HS Ex. They had a child together. And, not surprisingly, her HS ex/husband decided to split. So now… HS ex and Ex Husband. Anyway… Thompson was discussing on Facebook this weekend how it breaks her heart when her son says, “Daddy doesn’t like me.” Apparently, Thompson’s ex decided that he’d rather spend the weekend hanging out with his friends as opposed to spending the weekend with his son… whom he never sees. That is shitty and I get angry for Thompson and my heart breaks for her little boy. But the petty side of my nature feels a little smug.

This pot smoking, high school drop out that you thought was better for you than I was… who couldn’t handle even the responsibility of getting a job, being a husband, and being a father… THIS guy you thought, “Yeah… definitely better than that other guy.” Well… you have to lie in the bed you made. You selected a “bad boy” type that you thought you could change… you didn’t change him… and now that choice will negatively impact the child you brought into this world. I feel bad for you and your child but… yeah… still feel a bit smug about it.