This is Part 3.5 or III.5 of the Group Therapy action. Part III.5 - can you do that? Mix Romans with Normals? It's against some rule, I'm sure. Of course I can mix Romans with Normals because it's my blog and I can do what I want. Oh the joys have having your own little heaven of bits. If you don't have your own blog, I suggest you get one because it provides absolute power. For example, you can use this absolute power to reveal your soul through embarrassing happenstance.
I decided that before I move on to Part IV, that Part III needed more attention. That's why this is Part III and a half instead of Part IV. If you missed the other parts of this Group Therapy, click here and scroll down. Or not. But whatever you do, try to keep up, kay?
Bad decisions make the best stories, don't they? They sure do. I've made some bad decisions in my lifetime, and as the magic of consequence would have it, those decisions have made some great stories. Like Part III is a great story, but for all you know, I could be making it up. Right?
I have a master plan for this Group Therapy chapter book. I know right where it is going and I know how I plan to wrap it all up. (Keep it wrapped!) I didn't expect that I'd let you all know about the worst parts, however. I didn't expect to do that. But as I began to unfold my thoughts, it was pretty clear that documenting Jimmy was necessary for wrapping it all up nice 'n tight. (Again! Keep it wrapped!)
I've created a monster manifestation of this Jimmy guy. I've established an offending party(pooper) and made our break-up seem very black and white. I displayed several good 'n valid reasons to jet and indict the poor defenseless feller in the process. You haven't heard his side of the story. I could have been his version of hell-on-earth. I could have been maniacally moody. I could have had a substance abuse problem too, for all you know.
Well I didn't, and don't currently have, a substance abuse problem. ('Cept caffeine. Does caffeine count? And running's not a substance, correct?) That other part about my being a maniacally moody version of hell-on-earth? Well, that I can't rightly deny. I can be a maniacally moody version of hell-on-earth.
I bring this up because divorces, relations, and friendships are all very messy. There's always two sides -- and if kids are in the picture -- more than two sides. In any break-up, in any altercation, I believe each party involved is at fault to one extent or another. Always. So when this Jimmy moved out, I had a challenge -- to accept my role in "our" failure, learn from it, and move on. This acceptance I speak of is part of getting rid of those extra spicy chips resting about the shoulder. Totally easier said than done for I had an entire Dorrito truck on one side. To this day, I don't eat Dorritos.
So what happened to Jimmy? Where did Jimmy go? Where is he now? Jimmy moved out of my house and into the girlfriend's. I'll call Jimmy's girlfriend Tonya because she looked like a cute Tonya Harding. Three-or-so days after that, I began receiving random phone calls from his siblings. Evidently Jimmy had begun introducing Tonya and everyone was confused, some were even sad. At the time of our split, Tonya had just left her husband and had custody of their little 9 month old boy. When I had kids of my own, remembrances of sweet Tonya's infidelity totally blew my top. Who on earth has time for an affair when they've got a baby? Good grief.
Jimmy and Tonya married a few years later and Jimmy got Tonya hooked on pain meds. Scratch that, Tonya allowed herself to get hooked on the pain meds. They had a little girl together. The rest of the following story is hearsay, of course, because it's the word on the street. Evidently Jimmy and Tonya couldn't hold the family together, so Tonya's parents hired a nanny for them. The nanny notices the elicit drug abuse and turns them in to whatever authorities. Jimmy and Tonya lose the kids. Tonya had an affair (surprise), and they divorce. Jimmy, then 38ish, shacked up with a girl under 20. That's the story, anyway. I'm not sure of the current status of their individual custodies.
I'm obnoxiously snoopy. Obnoxiously. I'm thinking that if my software gigs ever start to fizzle, I could really do some damage as a private investigator. It'd be rad. I'd get me some tattoos like that Dragon Girl (awesome book, by the way.) When I was dating, each and every gent I accompanied would receive a full public-record-investigation from yours truly. I would know everything: speeding tickets, whether or not they really were divorced, if they beat up their wives, and any other illegal stuff they were into and busted for.
Spouse was clean. He's so boring that way. Didn't even have a speeding ticket.
Anyway, periodically, I do a quick run-down on Jimmy's public record. He has a lot of public intoxication, drug paraphernalia, drug possession charges, all while carrying a weapon. Nice, huh? Doesn't that make you feel safe? Does me. Last year, about this time, I was doing an inmate search on the local county jail, when his name came up (again.)
Jimmy was charged with two counts of Assault with Domestic Violence and one count of Unlawful Detention.