The beast has arisen and claims he's dying - again. He claims the doctors give him two weeks. Over a year ago, he called and said the doctors gave him three months. Yeah. Whatever.
The disease is supposed to be cirrohsis of the liver. That, I can believe.
So here I am, the cold-hearted bitch who won't fulfill the wish of a quasi-dying man. What if he isn't dying? What if it's just one more lie, and a lie that puts the beast back into my life and the lives of my family?
And what if he is dying? Well, so what? After 23 years, what have we to do with each other? What especially, has he to do with anything remotely connected to me?
sigh. If I could do what he wanted, safely, I would. I cannot. I can't even trust him to be actually dying when he says he is. Even if I could, there would be other issues to deal with . . I don't know whether I would (a) have the nerve to and (b) be willing to inflict those troubles on others, innocent others. & the infliction could not be avoided.
So perhaps it's just as well that he's a lying, violent, crazed sack of s---, that way I can avoid those 'other' issues.
It is unbelievable, and appalling, that I am angry with someone for not having the decency to die a year ago, like he said he would.
Ahhhh - walk a mile in my shoes, baby. You'd feel the same.