To everything there is a season.
And I'm not talking about a time to kill or a time to hate. No, I'm talking about a time to get the hell over it. And for me, that time is now. It's been almost eight months since J-Fed moved out and moved on.
I've spent a great deal of being angry, suspicious, betrayed, devstated, etc. My snooping never got me far. In fact, my mother and I accidentally set her car on fire at one point after I went through J-Fed's phone bill. I thought the anger would dissapate but it never did, at least not for many, many months.
The hatred was an inferno that was enveloping me as a whole. My anger wasn't like an untamed animal. No, it was well directed... right at J-Fed and T.O.W. (The Other Woman). To this day, I'll never really know what went on between J-Fed and T.O.W., but it's irrelevant now because I don't care. Some people can say that and not mean it, but there's a great deal of girth to my statement.
And I'll prove it. Saturday morning I went and knocked on T.O.W.'s door. Since it's just a couple houses down from my own, I didn't have to go out of my way. My intentions were pure. It was time to put an end to the insantity. Like most women scorned, I could have probably spent the duration of my life being angry, bitter, petty and childish. I could have plotted and planned. I could have gone to my grave spewing insults at the two of them.
But there was a bigger picture here. The kids were getting caught up in a war that had nothing to do with them.
You see, our 6-year-old had been put square in the middle. She's pretty perceptive, perceptive enough to know there was tension on all fronts -- between J-Fed and I, J-Fed and my mom, T.O.W. and I, my mom and T.O.W., my cleaning lady and J-Fed, the garbage man and J-Fed. Ok, so maybe the last two are a stretch, but you get the point.