and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

So right now, this instant, the previously-gouged foot is throbbing.. right where it was gouged. Now, to recap (despite the fact no one wants to here it) I step on a seashell.. or coral. or a rock. okay, I admit it, I'm not sure what it was. My best recollection is that it was a large pointy seashell type thing. Anyhow, that doesn't matter now. Nor does my poor little billfold that is floating in (sunken to the bottom of?) the carribbean with all my credit cards; presumably. To recap, I have not gotten a new license, I have not gotten my ATM card working yet, I have only received one of my many many useless credit cards (I say useless because I am one of those assfuckers you hate who pays off his bills every month so doesn't need fifteen credit cards). I am, admittedly, not in proximity to my postal delivery spot so I guess I don't really know if they've come in yet. Perhaps I shouldn't complain so much about these credit card companies. To recap, my foot is throbbing in that exact spot where it was gouged out by a nice big seashell (or rock, or coral, yah yah we know already get on with the story). If it hurt at all, I would be worried. It doesn't. It's just throbbing.

Relationship advice is the most retardedest thing in the world. People are going to bitch and moan, ask for advice, and if you're lucky they will even pretend to listen.. but they will nonetheless return to their idiotic ways, complaining evermore into the night like a sick twisted step mother. They will not follow any said advice.

Feeling miserable is oh-so-much more fun. Trust me.

This, coincidentally, is why people don't listen to relationship advice; it might work. And the last thing anyone wants is to look like a couple that couldn't be pigeonholed into a bad episode of 90120, Felicity, Desperate Housewives, or Maury Povich. Take your pick because, no matter what, everyone wants to fall into one of these categories. Life is no fun otherwise.

So take the good with the bad? Is that it? No no no no. I say again, no. It's all good. In the eyes of the layman a failed divorce is as romantic as a successful marriage. There is no bad. If you can smile, grit your teeth, and say you're sorry (meanwhile getting drunk while you sip marg.mix, food coloring, and cheap tequila from your gatorade bottle) then that is all it takes to be the whitebread's best friend, the sandwich meat, the monkey in the middle, the peolpe all the other people are looking at saying "hey, look, they made it".

Yes in-fucking-deed they made it. And my foot is still throbbing.