Mostly I just stand around being fantastic**.**
She waits in the hall for him, and he wordlessly lets her in. She heads toward her suitcase and begins packing in earnest, taking Sarper’s recommendation to go to a hotel, thereby, upending his zero-sum game approach in which there are only winners and losers. “I hate this kind of I’m going stuff.” He has little tolerance for painful emotions. “What do you expect when you treat someone like that”? “I was just transparent to you, saying everything everything that I think of.” “Well, you should’ve thought longer before you said those things.” Stymied, Sarper begins to remove the clothes Shekinah has packed, “Don’t take your stuff. Don’t take your stuff. At first, I thought it was a bluff. It was not real, but when I see her packing her stuff, I got scared.” She puts the clothes back in, “You are a child.” He’s already tried to dehumanize her, desperate to feel smart and in charge responding to his deep feelings of inadequacy so he mentally stutters, “I can’t even know you, I mean. It’s not the Shekinah that I know for five months.” “I don’t know where you were either,” Shekinah responds. Guilelessly, Sarper says, “I just said what I want.” “What you want is not realistic. It’s not fair to me.” He stonewalls her, “I will sleep on couch. I promise. “Okay”? “No, I want to go to a hotel and figure out what to do.” Since Sarper is a bully, he tries to intimidate through verbal, psychological, and emotional brute force, “If you go to the hotel, I delete you if you go from this house.” “Then, I’m definitely going because if that’s how you’re going to treat me, then there’s no reason for me to stay. You’re saying the wrong thing. That’s fucked up; it’s up there with I’ll forget you in two days.” Sarper’s pleading and emotional blackmail could backfire. By using fear, obligation, and guilt, Sarper is trying to ensure that Shekinah is obligated to confirm his self-esteem and identity; she needs to not become a hostage to the threat of being responsible for his breakdown. “Is it your last decision to leave this ****** house”? Shekinah wisely doesn’t respond. “Go out and let me pack. I want space.” He takes a step back to re-strategize. “It’s up to you. Do whatever you wish, okay”? “I will.”
Shekinah sees him trying so she will meet up with him. He’s already stood outside her window, like the prince who plans to rescue Rapunzel from the tower making heart signs to signal his love, and now they’re sitting on a park bench where Sarper, bouquet in hand, is the bent figure of contrition, only seeing in hindsight the negative consequences of his actions in his rear-view mirror. “I will never insist on anything from now on.” “You’re saying everything different; I just don’t trust it.” “I’m so sorry. Please give me a second chance.” (Isn’t this technically his third or fourth chance. He dissed her when Shekinah’s sister visited; he upset her at the gym, and he conveniently forgot to post their status update.) “I felt so guilty. I felt terrible what I said to her. Some needle pierced my heart when I woke up and smelled her scent in the bed, but she was gone, and I couldn’t breath. I mean, she is the love of my lifetime. I want to say I’m sorry. I feel so ashamed to look at your eyes, okay? I said many bad things to you, I know. I said I will forget you two days, but believe me, after I saw that pain, I can’t forget you for two decades. I am so sorry.” He metaphysically opened his ratty raincoat and flashed his confident invincibility ready for any reaction. “What about our future together? No child = no future.” Doing an about-face, Sarper blurts, “No, that’s not right. I can’t live without you, babe because babe, I don’t want to lose you so I will never open that issue again unless you want it. Do you forgive me,” he asks slyly. “I forgive you from my heart but I’m not forgetting.” He kisses her hand*.* Stop asking me to trust you while I’m still coughing up water from the last time you let me drown.
You Have A Right To Separate
“We haven’t had exactly a blissful honeymoon stage. TJ’s at work all the time and I’m stuck in an apartment all day; it’s extremely isolating. If someone wants to go to the roof, they have to come through here. I’ve asked them to ring the doorbell and make sure I’m decent, but they’re peculiar about that and they’re reading it as don’t come up at all. Now, when I go down, it’s hostile looks and no greetings. I feel completely alone. When I try to talk to TJ, he just becomes defensive. I can’t talk to friends because of the time difference, and I’m depressed because I can’t do anything since I can’t speak Hindi. When we have arguments, he avoids me solving nothing and making me feel like I’m in a jail cell. My mental health is crumbling.” TJ squirms with the prospect of having the same old argument. “My family feels disrespected. You don’t come down and share meals with them or talk to them.” Kimberly is getting wound up like a Jack-in-the-box, “I’m not ignoring them; I just don’t have anything to say because I’m not on good terms with them. “That’s the problem!” “Yes, I know that’s the problem.” “It’s crazy,” starts TJ, but Kimberly slices through him like a butter spreader through Land O’Lakes,” Don’t you dare call me crazy. I don’t call you a lot of names,” titty baby,” mouths an eye-popping raised voice wife. “You are depressed of your own reason, not because of me,” rejoins a frustrated TJ. “Duh, of course, my reason.” “Don’t shout at me. If you want to create a drama out of this, then it’s okay, surrenders TJ. Kimberly is now ominously rubbing the bridge of her nose with tearful closed eyes while TJ reasons with her, “You know how many times I told you if you feel alone, you can go back to the U.S. You can go anytime whenever you want.” “I want,” cried Kimberly, “to be with my husband but my husband seems not to want to be with me. I’m telling you I’m depressed, and you don’t care!” “What you want from me,” asks TJ. “Maybe give me a fucking hug.” She’s plucked his last living nerve. “I’m not doing that.” “I know. You’re not holding up the end of a husband’s duty.” TJ is quickly flipping this script. “What’s the duty of a wife? Yelling on me and telling me what to do? It’s always about you and what you want. What about my emotional sentiments”? “But,” rejoins a tearful Kimberly, “You’re not telling me what you need,” and with that, Kimberly screams, a Jasmine scream to the unfeeling high heavens. TJ gets up to leave, “I’ll end this right now.” Kimberly defaults to a squeaky, “I hate you.” TJ warns her, “Don’t play with me,” and vents to his mother, “Mummy, she’s made my life the hell. This is the limit,” and this is the glue pasting the smiles on her and Yash’s face. “Let her go off to America and be happy over there.” I’m sorry you’re mad because you just found out the world doesn’t revolve around you. Here, let me pour you a tall glass of get over it.
Do You Want To Commit a Sin For Your Next Confessional?
“I don’t care about the stuff he took now; I wouldn’t want to look at it because I learned some things last week, and I don’t want anything to do with Yohan. The other day a woman wrote to me on social media and told me that she had been in a relationship with my husband for two years – a month before we got married, and she wanted to ask me if we were really going to get a divorce. She says Yohan’s been writing to her all this time and asked her to speak with a lawyer to pay for his divorce. She’s met his father and nephew and gave them money. The situation is uncomfortable for her because she doesn’t know if Yohan is lying. We see a series of texts because Daniele wants screenshots of the conversations, intimate photos, and some audio when they traveled in August and came to the hotel where this woman gave him money for a mortgage payment or credit that they had to pay for the parents’ home. Why does this woman want Daniele to know they had sex in the past and he loved it? They had sex all these years while knowing he was married. While being with him both times she traveled there, and he brought her to the complex while she was on retreat. In fact, giving Daniell a play-by-play deciding now to write to her like she’s doing her a favor. Is it Selfish therapy? Collusion for a specific purpose? Sadomasochism? Much too late Daniele realizes “he was never really there. I have no idea who this man is or if I ever will. I have his computer and have found evidence of other women he’s slept with. (Get tested ASAP!) At least six women for whom he asked money while he bitched all the time that he was broke and was hustling multiple bitches for money. (Did his loving family forget to tell her she wasn’t the only one?) I tried to have a conversation with him about this, but he refuses to talk to me. When I sent him one of his own pictures, he responded, “Oh, I did? I don’t remember.” “Fuck you! I want nothing to do with this man ever again. I feel so foolish. I should have seen what he was about in the beginning (or listened to our mighty Reddit chorus). None of this was real. It was a game and he’s a monster. He’s a fuckboi – a Casanova who goes around fucking girls and leaves them for another bitch. “I don’t know what I’ll do now.” You can call me “The Fireman” because I turn the hoes on.
Beam Me The Hell Out Of Here Scotty! Idiots, Plague Poverty, Riots, Wildflowers, Locusts, and Some Bitch Named Karen
It can’t be a good sign when a swarm of insects flies up your nose, settles on your breast, in your hair and ears, and lands on your wedding cake. Producer: Kill the light. Yes, and get in the damn car except for Brandan who had to pick just this moment to fling his arm out in panic and set his ring to flying. Poor Angela is really traumatized, “I can’t do this.” Gulp. Brandan tries his best to soothe everyone, “It’s chaos and this is just getting worse. Total disaster. We didn’t even get to eat the cake,” he mourns, “and I feel sorry for the guests. It’s the plague of Egypt and not really the day we planned, but I’m happy I’m married. Is pestilence already raining judgment down on sinners? Angela bestows her blessing on the couple, “I’m really proud of you both. This could be an epic love story.” What a turnaround. She gives substantial hugs that stick. Alone, Brandan scrapes off the bugs from the frosting and he and Mary exchange slices as he tells her how Angela’s advice inspired him. “You always make a promise. I hope you will do it this time. He can now look for a job. I choose to believe him for
