It has always amused me that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’ve climbed the proverbial corporate ladder for nearly twenty years now and the adventure in hysteria and ultimately, amusement, continues to unfold before me with each new professional adventure. I’ve discovered that there will always be ‘characters’ in each office with their inevitable stereotypes, quirkiness, and overall clueless existence, just sitting there…waiting and needing to be written about. And that, I’m certain, is my calling.
I recently visited Denver for the first time to attend a conference sponsored by my current company. Like most conferences and trade shows, all sorts of personalities attend and put on their best ‘game face’ to meet customers, prospects and network with partners. The networking and nurturing of those partner relationships is what facilitated my attendance at the conference in the first place. You see, I am often the invisible marketing ‘Wiz’ behind the corporate curtain, crafting the brand message, and spoon-feeding the blind B2B masses much like feeding broccoli to a seven year-old. And if the truth be told, I’ve discovered that if you cover anything with enough cheese, someone will ultimately eat it.
The majority of those in attendance were men in their 40s and 50s, sporting their receding hairlines and stuffing their beer-bellied midriffs into the required, company-branded golf shirt. To put it bluntly, these men are starved for female attention. The overwhelming majority are married with either teenage or college-bound children, and operate their personal lives with the same boring, predictable precision they present in the workplace. Unimaginative, robotic clones who somehow believe that the story of how they caught the prize-winning trout in their local fishing competition will bring women hopelessly to their knees. And it never fails that these men are utterly captivated by the bubbly and otherwise vacant blonde whose actual purpose is to flirt mindlessly with these men and somehow help assuage their own personal shortcomings. This conference was no exception to the rule and that blonde….and come on, we all know who she is at every company….was there in all her flighty magnificence.
Ironically, despite my ability to see these women for who they actually are rather than what they pretend to be, I am inherently a nice person and get along with nearly everyone. And at my company, this blonde to which I am referring, I will hereby call The Flight Attendant. Bless her sweet soul, she is dripping in Southern accolades as well as physical beauty, and her syrupy accent is all that’s required to lure men under her spell.
After the conference closes on the last afternoon, a handful of co-workers decide to let off some steam and meet up at a local Denver bar and club for some drinks. I receive a call around 5pm in my hotel room from The Flight Attendant: “Mozzie, are you up for it? Come on and go out with us, girl!” Despite my feet aching worse than an Irish clogger, I reluctantly agree to join them. I arrive at the bar around 9pm and the festivities are well underway. The strobe light is flashing, the hip hop is blasting, and The Flight Attendant is on the dance floor, surrounded by an overwhelming group of male admirers, most still dressed to the nines in their company golf shirt. Bless their hearts.
I make my way to the bar, order a double vodka tonic and scan the room for cohorts and partners in crime. I feel the overwhelming sense of relief when I spot a great buddy of mine who is nursing his third or fourth drink, and wave him over to my direction. We chit chat, share some laughs and begin what turns out to be one of the most hilariously funny nights I’ve experienced in quite some time. Before too long, we’re throwing back shots of Grey Goose and cackling at the quasi-American Bandstand maneuvers we’re witnessing on the dance floor. The Flight Attendant is in her element…shaking her money maker and batting her eyelashes in every direction. By the end of the night, I’m fairly certain she will need not only an interpreter from her advanced state of intoxication, but also an escort to find her way back to her hotel room. Naturally, I help her back safely to the hotel, politely say good night and that I will see her the next morning around 8am.
7am arrives and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t kick my nearly 40 year-old ass. But, I shower, get my act together and head over for the last morning of the conference. It’s 8:30am and there’s no sign of The Flight Attendant. I excuse myself, step outside, and call her mobile number and then her hotel room. No answer. Yikes.
I quickly make my way back to the hotel and begin knocking on her door. I hear groaning on the other side and then the door swings open with the naked Flight Attendant peeking around the corner. She’s hungover. She’s completely overslept and she’s limping. She wails in pain only to look down and discover bruised and bloody toes. “Mozzie, what the hell happened? OMG, my foot kills! I was dancing with some guy last night and he kept stomping on my toes. Help me…I can’t walk!” I do my best to contain the uncontrollable laughter swelling up inside me and tell her to get her act together, clean up and head over to the conference if she wants to keep her job. Tough love…sometimes, we all need it.
Later that afternoon, we all depart for the airport, most of us on separate flights, and I don’t see The Flight Attendant until the following day at the office. She arrives, late as usual, on crutches with apparently two broken toes from her late night Denver escapade. Upon seeing her, I race for the bathroom or anywhere private because I know I am going to lose it. I laugh for at least half an hour at the sheer comic gold that is unfolding before me. Like I’ve said many times before, often real life is funnier and more entertaining than fiction.
Several days pass and The Flight Attendant receives flowers in the office from the Toe Stomper. She is touched and agrees to a dinner date with him. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony of the entire situation. Later, she sends me a text on my mobile: “Mozzie, you won’t believe how nice of a guy he is! After my divorce, I was convinced there were no nice guys left out there for me. I really like him and think he might be the one.”
So there you have it, my friends. A possible answer to the age-old question: How do you mend a broken heart? Answer: Go dancing and have someone break your toes. You might just fall in love.
As much as I’d love to be able to take credit for that statement, I hardly can. Henrik Ibsen, a remarkable 19th century Norwegian poet and playwright, penned that statement even before the turn of the 20th century. I can remember first reading that when I was about fifteen years-old, and feeling the complete brilliance and truth of it sitting squarely on my shoulders. You see…for a writer, there couldn’t possibly be any statement more at the heart of the matter. Not to sound exclusive, but it’s a difficult thing to explain to someone outside of this reality; to someone who hasn’t spent the majority of their life trying to make sense of their existence year after year, through each stroke of their pen. The funny thing about being a writer is that it’s very much a feast or famine talent. You may go through periods in your life where the words seem to leap from you faster than you are able to write or type them. And other times, you lull through months or even longer where you simply cannot find the words, no matter how desperately you need to.
Certainly, I cannot speak for every writer on this planet. But, in my thirty-six years on this earth, this is exactly how it has been and continues to be for me. I’ve often found myself wondering why this is…why are there times and periods in my life where I cannot stop writing and others when the pen sits frozen in my hand? Is it a type of possession that temporarily takes hold of you until you’ve said all you feel you can say on the subject? Or, is it a God-given gift that like any type of talent should be nurtured and fertilized each and every day in order for it to continue to grow and flourish?
I really couldn’t say one way or the other, and I hardly have a definitive answer on the subject. However, there is one thing that I know for certain; one thing that I hold dear and true. Henrik Ibsen was right. “To write is to sit in judgment on oneself.” And perhaps, it is this self-scrutiny, and this personal dissection, that makes our writing ebb and flow. At times, this self-reflection is a necessary evil for our own understanding and personal growth. And at other times, the cruelty of sitting beneath a microscope of self-analysis is simply more than a person can withstand.
I don’t think the admission of this duality makes me less of a writer, really. I think it’s what makes me a human being.
“If I’m trying to sleep, the ideas won’t stop. If I’m trying to write, there appears a barren nothingness.”
~ Carrie Latet
“Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.”
~ Franz Kafka
“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”
~ Ray Bradbury
Okay, okay. So, I’m not immune to peer pressure either. Given that it’s been nearly a month since my last entry and many of you have written inquiring as to my status as ‘alive or dead,’ I figured it is only the polite thing to do to post an updated entry. Truth be known, I haven’t felt terribly inspired or creative in the past few weeks, and keeping my head above water has been my prime directive. Yes, I am still looking for a job with little success, but, as you all know from reading my words, I always believe in holding on to hope. I’ve found that as grim as things may appear in your situation, things are always worse for others. Though I take no comfort in the suffering of others, this notion often keeps my toes warm at night.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the ideal of ‘happiness’ and all that it entails. And yes, I refer to it as an ‘ideal’ because I honestly think this description encapsulates the esoteric nature of it. In my life, I’ve found that happiness isn’t really a state of being, but rather the moments by which we judge our lives. I mean, how often has someone asked you, “Are you happy?” and you think to yourself, ‘Well, I suppose I am…at least at this moment in time.’ Do you ever wonder why we often think this way and why it is so difficult to reply with a resounding, ‘YES?!’ After giving it considerable thought, I think it has something to do with difficult times and worries overshadowing the positive things in our lives. When we’re burdened, we often feel like the world is ultimately against us and nothing ever seems to work out as we hoped. I can say this because I am guilty of this mentality perhaps more than anyone else.
The point of my rambling here is that happiness is something we must pursue. It does not exist in a vacuum or by chance. It’s built through our relationships, our kindness shown to others, and our ability to love and give of ourselves. This is the seed of happiness. And if given enough care and sunlight, it can grow into a garden of possibilities.
“We tend to forget that happiness doesn’t come as a result of getting something we don’t have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.”
– Frederick Koening
“Happiness is not a brilliant climax to years of grim struggle and anxiety. It is a long succession of little decisions simply to be happy in the moment.”
A week has elapsed since I lost my job. Truly, it took nearly three days just for the shock to dissipate and the full irony of the situation to settle into my subconscious. I mean, really…what are the odds of being laid off as many times as I have and now in the worst of economic times? Surely, they must rival the lottery by now. To be completely honest, yes, losing my job gutted me. But, it has happened to me so many times now I can hardly be shocked when I hear ‘the speech’ again and again. I placed first in the national ‘I’ve been laid off’ competition, reciting the speech verbatim in my sleep, standing on one toe, and washing my hair simultaneously.
I really have no idea what I will do now except keep trudging along as I always have in this situation. I’ll keep networking, sending out hundreds of emails in the hope that they don’t land in someone’s ‘spam’ folder, and maybe, hopefully, something will come my way before I starve to death. Isn’t it a sad commentary on the state of the world today when a college degree, fifteen years’ experience, and handfuls of personal testimonies to your abilities can’t even land you secure and steady employment? If this is happening to me and millions of other capable professionals, what hope do today’s graduates have when they walk off that stage, degree in hand, hoping to land the job they’ve been preparing for?
One of the most ironic things I’ve found about the corporate arena is that the crummier a person you actually are, the higher up the ladder you seem to climb. I know you may shake your head in disbelief at this, but I can assure you, it’s so entirely true. As I’ve progressed through the rungs, one painful step at a time, the more corrupt and dishonest people seem to be. Why is this? Does it take this type of person to be able to keep the wheels of capitalism spinning? Do you have to be a self-centered loser to do well professionally? Perhaps that is the root of my problem. You see, I am neither of these things and couldn’t be even if I gave it a hero’s effort. As sarcastic as I appear, I am a painfully nice girl and actually do care about others. I realize that into every life a little a-hole must fall, but wouldn’t it be grand if there were a place where people actually treated one another as they wished to be treated? What an absolute utopia that place would be.
And if I found that place some day, that place of genuine goodness and sincerity where being a good person meant that a good life would befall you, well…who knows.
Yesterday at 10am, I lost my rockstar job. The job I was so proud of, the job that was going to help me finally get my life in order, the job I felt would secure my future career, was gone in the blink of an eye, without warning, reason, or explanation. I spent the entire afternoon at home yesterday, in a state of utter shock and disbelief, fighting back not only tears but the feeling of complete rejection that enveloped me. Why did this happen? What did I possibly do to deserve this at a point in my life when I’m facing the future on my own? Am I the butt of some cruel joke that a power greater than myself has masterminded, and if so, why me? I wish I could understand, but I don’t. The Good Book says that difficult times and trials serve to build personal character, but haven’t I been through enough?
What wounds me most is the way that I was treated yesterday. I was baited into HR’s office by my supervisor to “sign a document,” and backed into a steel trap without any hope of escape. I was told they appreciated my work at the company thus far, but they’ve decided not to continue my employment. After I struggled to pick my jaw off the floor, I proceeded to ask why and got little to no valid explanation for my termination. The irony of it is that two days ago I received a positive appraisal on my 60-day evaluation with my supervisor. The whole situation makes no sense, and quite frankly, stinks of something dishonest. If budget cuts and the economy are such a strain that my job can be deemed ‘superfluous,’ then by all means, tell me that. Don’t shuffle me out the door, with my personal belongings in hand, and make me feel as if I did something to deserve being treated like a second class citizen, or even worse, a criminal. I suppose honesty and integrity are dead on the vine along with chivalry and fidelity. It does seem that the harder I work at my job, the kinder I am to accommodate the needs of others and go beyond the call of duty, the more consistently I get shafted. It breaks my spirit and makes it difficult to believe in the general decency of mankind. I live my life by the Golden Rule: Always treat others how you would want to be treated. The inherent problem here is that in the corporate arena, no one else subscribes to this antiquated ideal. It’s dog-eat-dog and every man for himself…climb the ladder and it doesn’t matter who you have to step on to get to the top. He who has all the gold wins, right? BARF.
So, what will I do now? I suppose I will do what I’ve become so good at doing. I’ll pick myself up by my weathered boot straps, dust myself off, and start again. The most honest and simple thing about me is that I just want to be somewhere that I will be treated with dignity, honor, respect and appreciation for my talent and work ethic. That’s it, in a nutshell. And for whatever reason, that is such a difficult nut to crack.
After months of anticipation on my part, the day finally arrived last Saturday for the bad husband’s departure. He packed his things (and his bruised ego) and made his trek back to his home town. I stopped by my home last Friday night to check on things while he was out, and for the first time in such a long time, I could see the semblance of my home beneath all the clutter and junk that I was forced to live with during our marriage. The shadow of my once beloved solace lingered beneath the piles of boxes, and I felt giddy by the thought of actually being able to return home again. And at 11am last Saturday morning, that’s exactly what I did. I gathered my things from the parental units’ home where I’ve been living these past months, and headed home.
When I arrived, there was an eerie silence in the house…a thickness that you could almost feel hanging in the air. I gazed around and was overcome with a range of emotions. At first, I felt such relief and excitement at the realization that I was actually going to be able to be home again; the home I worked so diligently to have and maintain all these years. As I assessed the surroundings, I felt a horrible sinking feeling creeping up from the pit of my stomach and felt tears well up in my eyes. Even though I had waited for this moment for months, the realization of finality swept over me like a tidal wave. I cried for about an hour, realizing later that this was and is simply part of the process of grief, acceptance, and ultimately, recovery. Despite how nonchalant my tone may appear at times throughout the blog, don’t let it fool you. Divorce is a horribly gutting experience and one that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And if you’re like me, prone to wear your heart on your sleeve, the experience affects you even more so than the ‘Average Joe’ who may think of divorce as an ‘easy’ solution to a seemingly insurmountable problem. Solution? Sometimes. Easy? Not hardly.
So, for the past four days and with the unbelievable help and support of my family, I’ve moved back not just into my house, but my home. As the old proverb says, “Home is where the heart is.” I couldn’t agree more.
“Always be careful when you abuse the one you love
the hour or the day no one can tell
but one day ‘goodbye’ will be ‘farewell’…”
Okay readers, here’s your chance to have your say in the future of the ‘Bad Husband’ Chronicles blog. So, please vote in the poll and let me know what you’re thinking. Should I stay or should I go now? Don’t fret, I’m fairly thick-skinned and can handle rejection. *boo hoo*
Feel free to leave any comments, suggestions or ideas on the direction you’d like (or not) to see the blog take in the future. Thank you for your feedback, and as always, your faithful readership.
Firstly, let me apologize for the delay between Thursday’s blog entry and today’s. I realize that I left so many of you hanging and I was stunned by the number of email inquiries jamming my inbox once I returned online. To answer your burning questions…yes, I am still alive and kicking and yes, I had the third interview for the rockstar job opportunity on Friday.
To preface, I am a seasoned professional when it comes to being laid off in the corporate arena and then forced into the hell phase of endless interviewing for a new job. Given this fact, I’ve become a bit convoluted in my judgment when it boils down to whether or not I feel I’ve got a job in the bag once I’ve completed the final interview process. I’ve left many interviews with the gut feeling that I would receive an employment offer because of positive comments the potential employer made to me during the interview. I would wait with baited breath for the offer to come and for some unknown reason, it never would. So, I eventually got to the point where I stopped trying to ‘guesstimate’ whether or not I felt I would get the job. I know this may seem like a negative way to think, but I’ve found that if you don’t expect anything, you’re not as deeply disappointed if it doesn’t pan out for you. Nevertheless, my point in all of this is to say that the final interview went fantastic and I’m very hopeful that an offer will be made before the holiday break. Do I expect one? Yes and no. Yes, because there is absolutely NO reason why they shouldn’t pick me for this position given how tailored my experience fits the niche they require. And no, because of the expectation bit that I just explained in the prior sentences. But, let’s just say that I hope to be pleasantly surprised for a change.
Since I’ve been temporarily taking refuge at the home of my parental units, I’ve purposely tried to distance myself from the husband so that he can familarize himself with the idea of not having me around. I know that getting used to not having your spouse there is not entirely possible when you’ve spent years with them as the center of your universe. When that center falls out, it completely disorients your entire reality. Having been the one who was abandoned in my first marriage, I thought about why distancing myself from the husband is ultimately the best course of action for us both as we are going through this process. When I reflect on my first marriage, I recall all too well what it felt like when my ex-husband told me he didn’t want to be married to me anymore, yet still hung around the house as if the declaration of his intent to bail shouldn’t affect my daily living pattern. How can anybody think this way?! This is the epitome of being a self-centered bastard who is thinking only of himself and his own comfort. Telling your spouse that you desire to end your marriage, but staying in your residence with them during the process is the proverbial cherry on top of the cruel and unusual punishment cake. If you have any love or compassion for your spouse and desire to inflict the least amount of collateral damage possible, then living in separate residences while you are getting divorced should be the only option. It is the fastest route to self-reliance for both of you.
The ironic part about me purposely distancing myself from the husband is that he actually thinks that I’m being selfish by not calling him and keeping him company in his lonely state. I mean, “I obviously don’t care (and have never cared) about him if I am able to be remove myself so easily from our marriage.” And yes, that’s a direct quote from the husband’s mouth. He actually is dense enough to think that I’m allowing him to live in my home with my dog while I live with my parents because I “don’t care about him.” After all, doesn’t everyone want to live with their parents when they are in their mid-30s and they’ve been independent for years?!
So, when the husband makes these and other ridiculous and unfounded comments, I choose the path of least resistance and ignore them rather than respond to them. When push comes to shove, what good comes from banging your head against a brick wall that can’t comprehend any measure of reasoning? And this, in a nutshell, is the husband. Yes, the lights are on, but no one’s home.
I’ve been thinking deeply these last few months about the old proverb, “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” I have to be honest and tell you that I really struggle with this notion. When I look back over my life, I can say whole-heartedly…Yes, I have loved much and loved completely. I have felt the joy that only arises from true love, the anticipation of spending every waking moment with that other person, and ultimately, the abject bliss of sharing the promise of spending the rest of your lives together. However, having been through marriage twice now (I am so thrilled to admit), I honestly feel that marriage in and of itself is just that: a promise. It is a promise that you will love the other person utterly and completely with everything you are, respect them even when they aren’t at the top of your ‘likeable’ list, take care of them when they are sick and unable to care for themselves, and help shoulder the burden when your family of two falls on difficult times. Above all, it is a promise of partnership; a vow that you will always contribute everything you can to the other person, your life together, and to your future.
My point with this elementary explanation is that if I am totally honest with myself, I’ve never experienced marriage as it should be. In both instances, I gave more than I received, loved more than I was loved, and held on to that promise with more zeal and respect than the other partner involved. So, by the most basic definition, I have loved and lost. Many people I know often comment that I’m just ‘jaded’ by my experiences and that it isn’t like this for everyone. Believe me, I know it isn’t. I have family members who have sustained happy and fulfilling marriages longer than I have been on this earth. Is there some great secret that they are aware of that I was never told? Are they that much better judges of character than I am when it comes to choosing their life partner? Or, did they just get ‘lucky?’ I think it’s probably a combination of these things and quite frankly, the idea of marriage for my generation is much different that it is/was for the generations before me. Marriage wasn’t viewed as a potentially temporary situation where one party could bail if they got bored with the other person, thought they could get a younger and hipper model, or just simply got tired of being around them. They realized that they were making a lifetime commitment to the other person and it was the most sacred covenant they could possibly ever make, perhaps other than parenthood. But today, in our easy-come easy-go society, people are disposable and promises are made simply to be broken. Nothing guts me more than this behavior.
I know many of you are thinking, “Wait a second, Mozzie, isn’t that what you are doing by divorcing your husband? Aren’t you breaking your promise to him?” I suppose on the surface, yes, I am. But, it is so much deeper and more involved than that. When I look back on my marriages, it wasn’t me who broke the promises. It wasn’t me that vowed to be one way when we said “I do,” but ended up acting and living a life contrary to that. I was the one who gave everything and sacrificed all that I was. I was the one who fought tooth and nail to make the marriages work and for the other person to see what needed to be rectified in the relationship in order to have a happy life together. I did all the praying, made all the counseling appointments, initiated all the talks, and pleaded for understanding from the other person. And in both marriages, nothing was gained from my efforts but loss and heartbreak. In both instances, I loved completely, and ultimately, lost everything.
So, is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I really can’t say at this point in my life. Perhaps in ten years, I will feel differently and be able to answer unequivocally ‘yes.’ But right now, with so much loss consuming me, I simply don’t feel that it is. Jaded? Maybe. Or maybe I just allowed myself to fall so deeply that I wasn’t able to see the whites of their lies.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been in a bit of a reflective mode lately.I suppose that often happens when life presents you with yet another curve ball and twist in the road, so rather than fight it, I choose to embrace it and see what I can learn from it.Today, I’m thinking about friendship.What is it, really?How do you measure it?I’ve always been accused of “expecting too much” out of my friends, so oftentimes, I find myself feeling disappointed and disgruntled when a friend fails to be there for me when I need them to be.Years ago, I had a friend who coined me “the pillar,” because she said that I was always the one who was there for her when no one else was.Naturally, I took this as a great compliment, knowing all too well what a great gift this is to another human being.Even now, years later, I still wear that hat.However, I suppose the difference now is that I’ve learned that being a pillar of strength for others must first begin with being your own.I am mine.
Through the years, I’ve had a difficult time with my female friends.I suppose the root of this started in adolescence when my “best” friend went behind my back and pursued my boyfriend without my knowledge.I was completely gutted by her deception, but most of all, by her blatant disregard of the trust I had selflessly placed in our friendship.After this transpired, I was never quite the same with my female friends.Realizing the inherent flaws of my own sex, I became much more guarded and cautious about trusting them.Occasionally, I would open up, share myself with them, be supportive of them, and then ultimately be stabbed in the back or simply disappointed with them.Even to this day, I have very few female friends.I’d like to, but I find that I have to take their friendships with a grain of salt and not expect to run into the exception to the rule.I realize that no one is perfect by any means, but I’ve found that women can be inherently cruel and petty beyond measure.I am neither of these things, so I’ve learned to always tread lightly when embarking on a new friendship with another woman.I suppose you could say that I am “scarred, but smarter” now.
Excuse my digression, as the intent of this entry is to focus on friendship.Getting back to my story, I have a very dear friend of over a decade now, who has been there through many of my trials and misfortunes through the years.We met in the most unlikely of places, a Morrissey chat forum, back in 1997.There was something unique about this fella from the get-go and we seemed to ‘click’ in an odd and unusual fashion, which really surprised me.We corresponded through the forum for a few weeks until we exchanged email addresses and decided to be introduced properly.Weekly emails transformed into daily ones and we began to share our life stories with one another.We are very different in some regards, and yet, erringly similar in others.Nevertheless, our differences always seem to compliment each other and even though he drives me crazy on a daily basis, I cherish his friendship.In the past, I found myself annoyed and irritated when he failed to be there for me when I felt he should have been.I would find myself thinking, “Why do I bother with him? He obviously doesn’t care about me because he would call or email if he did.”Up until recently, I still felt this way, but then, something switched inside of me.I realized that I have been holding him (and others) to MY standard of friendship and that is my own wrongdoing.You can’t measure friendship by a rigid standard of how you personally define it, but rather embrace the friendship that is given to you.If you expect others to reciprocate exactly how you would in a particular situation, you will always be disappointed.However, if you accept their token of friendship, however small and insignificant it may seem, you will always be grateful in receiving it.
As Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “A friend is a person before whom I may think aloud.”Discover the beauty in this statement and hold on to it.Accept your friends for who they are and not what you feel they ought to be and you will never be disappointed.So, I leave you now with the words of Morrissey, who I believe said it best, “Hold on to your friends.”
“A bond of trust has been abused
Something of value may be lost
Give up your job,
Squander your cash – be rash
Just hold on to your friends
There are more than enough to fight and oppose
Why waste good time fighting the people you like,
Who would fall defending your name?
Don’t feel so ashamed to have friends
But now, you only call me when you’re feeling depressed
When you feel happy I’m so far from your mind,
My patience is stretched, my loyalty vexed
You’re losing all of your friends
Hold on to your friends
Hold on to your friends
Resist – or move on
Be mad, be rash
Smoke and explode
Sell all of your clothes
Just bear in mind:
There just might come a time
When you need some friends..”
The "Bad Husband" Chronicles 