So anyway, it's January 13, the birthday of my first husband. Coincidentally, he wrote to me during the week to tell me about some things of mine that he found stored somewhere or other among the detritis of twenty years and to ask if I wanted them back.
I have reason to believe that he still feels a touch of bitterness at the way our marriage unfolded and the way I treated him; as well he might. But the purpose of this note---posted in my journal and linked here because it fits---is to say in the interest of setting things straight how very fortunate it was for him that I was such a confused, neurotic little wretch in my time.
Being treated badly is THE red flag that ought to tell you that you'd be better off elsewhere. Forget hoping the other person will change because change doesn't happen that way. Move on, find your true love, and get happy. Be assured, in the meantime, that what goes around comes around, and that the person who failed to give you the love you deserve will live to regret it.
To read all about it, JUMP TO THE FLATLAND CHRONICLES.
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