I’ve never been good at breaking up with people. I get really pissed off or hurt, or someone else gets really pissed off or hurt, and break ups happen… but then a day or two later, I forget why I was pissed off or hurt and un-break up.

My former mother-in-law is a complicated combination of funny and smart and loving retired elementary school teacher, combined with raging alcoholic who calls screaming and crying at midnight and wakes my kids up with the phone ringing off the hook until I give her what for and unplug the phone… and even she thought her mother-in-law was “a fuckin’ bitch,” and she celebrated when the woman died at the ripe old age of ninety-somethin’.

The stories I heard about the “fuckin’ bitch” were legendary. Evidently, when she was a newly wed, her husband would have his fill of “the fuckin’ bitch” and enlist for a tour with the merchant marines, more than once, just to have a break.

Breaking up with Missouri and The Church is kinda like that for me. Wednesday evening, I was within driving distance of Wednesday night service, and I had a hankerin’ to go; which was a really weird and unexpected reaction for me. It’s not Missouri’s fault, and it’s not the Church’s fault, that Missouri & The Church totally suck like “the fuckin’ bitch.” They were just born that way.

More soon, much Love,

-Effie

*July 10th, 9:26 PM update: after some thought, I’m pretty sure the only reason I thought about going to Wednesday night service is because I felt lonely and bored… which is a good way to describe why I ever un-broke-up with anyone… even and especially rapists/abusers.

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