CHAPTER 17: Escape from Accountability
From "Saga of One F**ked Mother"
“Escape from Accountability” is Chapter 17 of Mother-Fucking: The Saga of One Fucked Mother. [This chapter is too long for a newsletter so the second part will be posted next week.]
In this chapter, Herry has moved out as per Legion’s request after discovering his latest affair. She believes that Herry will attempt to deal with his sex addiction so he can come back and be a better husband and father. Unbeknownst to her he has other ideas. Herry uses Alcoholics Anonymous [AA] in his scheme. Legion blasts AA for enabling men like Herry who have sexual addictions, and Al-Anon [Family Groups] for duping wives and keeping them dependent on and deferential to their otherwise addicted and abusive husbands.
In the last chapter, Legion’s patience for Herry’s abuse and infidelity has run out and she finally tells him he has to leave until and unless he puts effort into changing his ways. Fear of her boys becoming like him gives her the courage to act. The stress causes a stint of sleeplessness which is pathologized by the mental health system and which will be weaponized against her later in Family Court. Legion muses how women over the centuries have been called crazy and witches for their reactions to men’s oppression.
Dr. Blue’s novel is based on her own experience of the Custody Crisis. It uniquely conveys how Family Court judges are “mother-fucking” women—a form of systemic violence directed at ex-wives—as protagonist Legion is systematically and methodically deprived of her children, career and money and reduced to “one fucked mother”.
Chapters are stand-alone interesting so you can begin reading anywhere. A Cast of Characters follows to help readers at any point. All published chapters are included in the Section: “The Saga of One F**ked Mother” accessible on the top bar of the home page: Women’s Coalition News & Views. Sequential chapters are published every Wednesday and subscribers will find them in their inboxes, so make sure to subscribe if you haven’t yet!
CHAPTER 17
Escape from Accountability
“… they understood our men as we did not!” and “Today most of our men are better husbands and fathers than ever before.”
—bill wilson on pages 105 and 108 in chapter eight’s “to wives” of the big book of alcoholics anonymous regarding an alcoholic’s other women, mr. wilson presenting that chapter as if his wife, Ms. Lois Wilson, had actually scripted it—all the while himself, during and after ending alcohol consumption, having countless sexual liaisons
* * *
Monday nights and Friday nights, not unlike every other night of the week, most weeks it seemed, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier had, for the past year, reserved for himself. Alone. Those two nights and Sunday mornings at 10 am as well Herry liked to procrastinate and bullshit his way through a couple to three more hours on each of those days by attending the local Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and talking, talking, talking afterward. Plenty of vulnerable women at these with whom to attempt to 13th‑Step and folks like Jim Cornball, the realtor, and many other so‑called ‘respectable’ town drunks all patting themselves and each other on the back over their … let’s say it all together now… “…just not taking another drink today.” All for the love of bill w, the glorious and so hyped and ballyhooed “12 Steps,” some manly written blue‑covered book other than Herry’s own Creighton University journal and each other’s strokes and hugs.
Certainly not for the love of nor the strokes and hugs of their families this excuse of insecure and lazy men for attending AA meetings is—it turns out. For this new Ames year of 1986 to 1987, for our household and without his drinking even one sip of booze since 1977 when Zane was about a year old and both Jesse and Mirzah not even yet conceived, Herry was, by his concerted and deliberate choice, actually missing to our entire family at least eight to ten hours more out of any 168‑hour week. About ¼‑time, that is, of prime husbanding and fathering periods. Herry was gone off simply schmoozing at all these AA meetings and at their social situations after – which actually for most of the folks there, instead of promoting individual health, community sustenance, family healing and the responsibilities thereof, turned out to be all about congratulating each other and celebrating his and the others’ freedom and escape from their accountability of the work that it is to being a spouse and to raising up a family.
Laziness and procrastination was more the character of not only those nights and the first‑of‑the‑week morning time but of all of the hours in between each meeting, too,—for Herry was either on the telephone or at a coffee shop at the various hospitals or around Ames and the other small, rural towns … hustling. ‘Sponsoring’ he much preferred to term it as though.
As much as Herry liked the ladies, insecure Herry also loved the elitist spotlight of How I Can Teach You, Too, Because I Know So Much More Than You Do. This kind of a weekly agenda for a man who not only was a supposedly heavily scheduled medical doctor but also the father of three schoolboys who allegedly needed his time and attention. Then, too, there was me, the man’s spouse—to whom, of course so far to date, my first name—Legion—just hadn’t by Herod Edinsmaier’s use of it, … yet … managed to come up whatsoever at all. Let alone, his being present in attendance and … ah, therefore, … attentive to me. No wonder that, besides the washouts that were its members’ mothers, Herry just hadn’t any time to actually perform the work of coaching his soccer team of six- and seven-year-olds and couldn’t be bothered with remembering to even be awake, not to mention, expertly mindful of any given weekday morning's surgery schedule and, then, physically tableside to unconscious and anesthetized women with their possibly cancerous, and therefore quite unimportant, breasts bared.
I can make this analysis and—O jyeah, criticism—of the functioning—er, of the dysfunctioning that it truly is! and which underlies Alcoholics Anonymous because i) I believe all of what it is that I say about it and ii) I myself went to Al‑Anon meetings where we almost all, there, did the very same damn thing. Not for very long did I go. After all … I had three kids to take care of and to raise up.
I saw going on at this particular 12‑Step Bullshitting and Let’s‑All‑Get‑Out‑Of‑Truly‑Working Society the very same thing as at open Alcoholics Anonymous meetings—and at full speed. Most there squandering away incredible quantities of time and, in like measure, a monumental amount of money on AA’s and Al‑Anon’s gargantuan industry of trifling and trivial trinketry, inanimate objects all of them: palm‑sized prompts of daily feel‑goodisms, pictures, other motivational books, mugs, medallions, bumper stickers, posters, yada, yada, as well as bookoo bucks on local restaurant menu items whilst socializing after, not to mention, the major dollars lost to families because folks there were … not at work working! Aaaah, JYeah!—They were soooo not at work … working! Including—most of all—so not at that which is the work of … the home!
All of us were, instead, busy blaming an inanimate liquid—Step #1, ya’ know—that is inside an inanimate glass bottle or metal can in order for all of us to get clean, slick away with all of this (non‑alcoholic, of course) toasting and boasting and procrastinating and wasting and good times talking and hugging—and whatever else. The perfect excuse for escaping the accountability of really going ahead and doing the actual, reasoned work necessary that is that of being an adult member of a family. Herod Edinsmaier believed his to be the perfectly planned excuse each week, one that would permit him to knowingly and purposefully shun the undertaking it was to face me, quite animate instead, square on, to be my husband and to be of the coupledness that was our union the other, most animate parent to Mirzah, Jesse and Zane with me!
Alcoholics Anonymous is perfect both in its doctrine preached and in its physical format of meetings and sponsorship for covering up and for escaping the real work and the real time that is required to be a true husband to one wife and equally with her, their mother, to co‑parent their children. It is waaaaay too un‑fun and unattractive and requires sacrificing almost all of that I’m‑such‑a‑great‑guy‑for‑not‑takin’‑a‑drink attention for an alcoholic to make the genuine decision to confront and relinquish his real addiction: that of sex and behaviors and things sexual––and, instead, to be intimate and animate with one’s spouse or partner only.
There are many, many persons who formerly attended meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous but are instead inside several other groups today including inside 12‑Step ones where they struggle to stop their sexual addictive behaviors—and who now make no bones whatsoever about their previous excusing and escaping. And there were even quite a few groups of such wholly and long—time dry drunks back some ten to 12 years ago already. “We admitted we were powerless over our real addiction, that is, powerless over our sexual behaviors which destroyed us and harmed our families” or something similar are the words of such a group’s First Step. Instead. Over our … animate … behaviors.
The group that is Al‑Anon? Her support group, not her husband, is advising the wife, the girlfriend, the mother, the daughter to do this and to think that––so, so surely it—the collective, altogether mostly‑female (of course) brain—knows what is best for her and the alcoholic's kids and grandchildren. Even if Herry is an all‑out fuck of a drunk, why, … my support group wouldn’t be steering me in the wrong direction now, would it?!
Sexual addicts’ enablers all. That I have seen. Maybe not all Al‑Anons everywhere—but definitely all of them that I have ever seen. Since early on in the formal organizing of Alcoholics Anonymous chapters and meetings when most identified alcoholics were male at the time misogynist, bill w and his patriarchal compadre, dr bob, were setting down ‘rules’, ‘rules’ all bootlegged and plagiarized from all of the ages‑old, man‑made religions’ commandments! into that similarly blue book of theirs, why, keeping the little woman pacified and assuaged in another male‑mandated and male‑identified organization, that is in Al‑Anon, just made very, very good opportunistic sense for them. They could continue their real and much‑desired addiction right under the truly proximal noses of their wives who were being unbendingly and quite blindingly advised to forgive while continuing to love and to remain servile, soft and, of course, utterly deferent to them, their dryly drunk yet nonetheless veritably addicted husbands.
Witness the androcentric and sickening “chapter eight” of the big book. In the 20th and 21st Centuries. Pornography. Smut this chapter is for which men everywhere—from or by their wives’ counseling them of its contents changed instead into advice “to husbands” and whether they be actively alcoholic or stone cold and free from hooch for decades (not, of course, equaling … sober)—would not themselves—ever—stand a second still! Flip/Reverse.
Then, too, Step #4 it is that insists that no one else be taking stock of any drunk or of any addict. O o o o, and just how convenient is that canon to have workin’ for your side of matters?! No one else, Alcoholics Anonymous’ and Al‑Anon’s ‘rules’ declare, no one else can police you and your other endeavors or own an opinion, much less, voice it about what behaviors you’re up to. Just you yourself.
So. Just staying away from swallowing beguiling, fermented, inanimate liquids gives you carte blanche and laissez‑faire license to get clean, slick away from and out of doing the mundane, daily routine of home chores and duties including the ones as minor as spousal respect, loyalty and fidelity—emotional or physical. And you get to waste a whale of a lot of time and money and then two to three hours later that night you swaggeringly sashay back out into The Real World where someone else has, because, well, because … these actually had to get done, … where someone else has already performed your share of the day‑to‑day labors of life and living—that you should have done for that day. Like give the kids their evening baths or sanitize the toilet bowl since you shit in it just as much … and more … than anyone else in the household does. Or grocery‑shop. Completely. Or, O say … cook something up other than the extraordinarily rare supper of spaghetti! You get to do whatever the hell ya’ habitually wanna—including all of your sexually addictive activities. You’re, overall, scot-scott free and off the hook from having to do the work of life and living and, O god, of relating to only one, very animate spouse! Much less, of raising up three boys to their … accountable adulthoods. Except for the not drinking of alcoholic liquids, Step #4 sets an AAer up with complete freedom, free rein and—very, very androcentrically, … with full authority—to continue everything––including being granted organizationally and patriarchally backed approval and entire, yet so discretely and perfectly concealed, permission to act out all of those sexually addicting behaviors of his or hers … unabated.
Former AAers in genuine sexual addiction treatment are the first ones to admit this Truth about Alcoholics Anonymous and its equally and deferringly collusive group, Al‑Anon. They will tell you straight up: that while all manner of machinations are recited long and loudly in AA and in Al‑Anon to the effect that accountability in matters of life, living and relating is what “Working The Program” is all about, in fact and in Truth, accountability is not at all the objective—nor the result! Instead, just the opposite is.
Now. Instead of Herry ever gathering any Willingness to Listen to anyone describe and confirm for him what he deep or, as a matter of fact, … not‑so‑deep … down has always known, that is, how he perfectly fits this moldy picture, much less, his ever reading and studying up on the cessation of sexually addicting behaviors on his own, Herod Edinsmaier executed that which he dazzlingly perpetuates: he denied and denied and denied. And quite does so I’m sure, that is, dwells in that brain of his along the banks of that soooo, so smooth‑flowing River D’Nial, today. Dr. Edinsmaier continues those so‑sanctioned, freely unaccountable hours of heaping aggrandizing attention upon himself as he 13th‑Steppingly ‘teaches’ others, especially those weak and vulnerable women who are themselves newcomers to AA, just how much it is he really, really knows!
* * * *
Herry loved to say, probably still does, “Anything serious needs to be laughed at.” That was the base essence of Dr. Edinsmaier’s ‘great humor’ of which more than one judge, as I have stated before, was privy to hear him give testimony, er I mean, provide ‘evidence’. That is, of the type of raillery and jokes that Dr. Edinsmaier and another one of The Stash, his next wife, Fannie Issicran McLive, liked to teach to my Sons. Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, for nearly the entire time I was his wife, amused himself by fixing up old and used bicycles so that they could be ridden again. He owned many old frames, a repair stand with a grip for securing them, a truing machine for wheels and spokes and various American- and European‑sized tools and wrenches specific for the repair of whole bikes or bike parts. This was not at all an ignoble avocation I should think; and, with three boys riding in the household, more or less handy it was to have someone around who knew how to keep their wheels trued and rolling accurately. When … he was actually there to do so.
One of Herry’s favorite pieces of pornographic prose, the one we’ve read through in its entirety earlier and entitled “Why Bicycles Are Better Than Women,” he taught to others repetitively and most especially to Mirzah, Jesse and Zane, two of whom in their adulthoods themselves I have since overheard repeat snippets from to their friends. Right in lock step this is with Herry’s and Juggern’s map for making men into husbands and fathers, especially fathers of more men as well as and apparently much less importantly, o’ course, fathers of or fathers‑in‑law of or grandfathers of … women. Exalted Juggern Edinsmaier provided the similarly exalted Edinsmaier spermatozoa for five live daughters and one dead one born at term, and no one I know knows what gender the two were that were the conceptus products of Mrs. Edinsmaier’s abortions early on in her gestations of them.
AmTaham sired three daughters, half the Edinsmaier number. And none of us, … I know Endys, Ardys and I never heard the likes of this fuckful prose out of AmTaham’s lips nor from his son Sterling’s nor his brother Wilbert’s nor his brother‑in‑law Rowland’s nor from those of his nephews Arthur and Wyman. Some of these True men did indeed, I know for a fact, think like this but to my ear I never once heard anything at all, not ever, the ilk of the smutty “Why Bicycles Are Better Than Women”‑type mockery, diminution, ridicule, beration—the quite literal DEhumanization into inanimate objects—of girls and women.
I remember also that none of the rarities of any humorous comparison or contrast of boys and men is of the same level of nor anywhere nearly equal to the vitriol and filthy vituperation and objectification as is that of girls and women in this jocular essay. None in this piece, for god’s sake, is actually … honoring … to us. For just eons females have been ‘the Other’, ‘the Lesser Than,’ ‘the (AB)normal.’ Even in joking and deprecating humor, females have been taken to a standard and to a degree to which boys and men have themselves never been lowered. And the True men, all of them fathers, husbands, boyfriends or brothers that I ever heard, did not participate in perpetuating, much less, promoting—our lessening—by enthusiastically teaching it … any further. Flip/Reverse.
“Bicycles don’t get pregnant.” So. Herry’s wife did. And grew and gave out of her body the three most perfect Aryan‑blond, blue‑eyed, white boy children when she did. When Herod Edinsmaier chose to come at me in ‘court’… by going after them, I guess it didn’t matter much to him nor to his papist and hyperdulical family that Herry mocks the fact that he’d had to put up with an animate object, Dr. Legion True, who’d gone and gotten herself preggers on him. Not just once even—but three times I had been parturient, for christ’s sake!
This first one of the entire composition contrasting and comparing a two‑wheeled, inanimate object to two‑legged, female animate ones, however, is probably the most telling, that is, that females, and definitely not males, stock and subsequently can supply the capacity to carry on the human race. Males want to control every aspect of this supreme ultimate power of ours and everything about our reproductive systems beginning with the thinking done by us women ourselves. Speaks again to Gerry Spence's Chapter 9 of From Freedom to Slavery: The Rebirth of Tyranny in America … this does.
If I were a mean‑spirited, hard‑hearted, hating person it would be so easy for me to rewrite the litany as, instead, a list of “Why Books Are Better Than Men” or “Why Cats” or “Why Texaco‑sponsored Radio Opera on Saturday Afternoons,” or “Why Blue Long Smooth Wine Bottle Necks Are Better Than Men,” but I have never seen nor heard ones such as these. Nor written one myself. Nor will I. The verbal mêlée from those three adult sons of mine and from other males that this would kick up were I to do so? Why, I grew to birthing them boy babies, I adore AmTaham, my most esteemed Ancestor, and almost all other males and have from my age of at least three years! I simply would not do this. Let alone, pass it on. Because … because I do not think this way, this hardly‑humor‑at‑all way. This hateful, loathing way. Nor do any of the feminists I know—almost all of them themselves mothers of men. We simply … love … men and do not think this way. At all.
* * * *
So. This 6th of June being a Monday night, ordinarily Herry would’ve most likely been headed on over to the McKenzie Avenue building only about six, seven minutes down 13th Street where several meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous were held weekly. There he would’ve been able to hook up with the only guy in attendance at AA or anywhere else, for that matter, to whom I ever figured Herry to give an ear once in awhile. And that was only because Mr. Varry Wussamai told him—to Herry’s ears and doctor brain—only whatever it was Herry wanted to hear and, only then, whenever Herry wanted to hear it. Kinda like of what I, according to Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, had not been doing nearly enough with Herry myself lately!
Now this was rather easy for Varry to do, too, that is, to have a sort‑of fledgling like Herry under his wing. A starter cuz although Dr. Herod Edinsmaier didn’t drink alcohol, he also had not attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings but two times in the past decade—so a fledgling AAer was he. In Truth. (As, o’ course, opposed to what a judge’d be reading just a short bit later than this—in sworn … ‘court’ … documents!)
If one were to equivalently match up Varry W to the bicycles’ analogies, there would be no contrast, only comparison: Varry W had no wife, Varry W had no kids and never has had, Varry W was even littler than Herry is and Varry W had a lot of things that Herry wanted to have … such as unlimited freedom of his physical movements at any time. Varry W could blithely glide through any day without so much as a phone call returned if he didn’t want to. Varry W also took other people’s inventory, at least that is, Herry’s wife’s, yeah, mine—Legion’s. At the same time, however, he never spoke of Herry’s since, of course, that would go against Alcoholics Anonymous members’ own written rule of Step #4—that is, of keeping quiet about each others’ sans‑drinking activities!
This taking of my stock, of course, pleased Herry to no end and, most especially, when Varry W showed up in ‘court’ a little bit later on as Herry’s witness and, actually under oath no less, pulled off that same little coup d’état right there in front of da’ judge! A man who was a total stranger to me personally and has only ever known me through whatever it was that Dr. Edinsmaier, Community Pillar, moaned to him about, gets up in open ‘court’ and reels off a laundry list of everything he, Wussamai, swears to be dirty about me. So help him, god. Step #4 be damned as far as I was concerned! And no matter that Wussamai himself claimed, O, about 20 years total of … ‘workin’ the Alcoholics Anonymous Program’ … Yeah, riiiiight … Besides hearsay and an abomination of Step #4, Wussamai’s testimony was pure heresy.
Varry Wussamai was Herry’s Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor and had himself already been performing this procrastinating, wasting, squandering and spending routine of slackers for at least five, and maybe as long as, ten years before Herry showed up on its central Iowa scene of at least three AA meetings per week. Herry, too, had been to AA before his beginning the Ames area meetings. Only thing is, though, Herry managed to not let any of those 25 or so judges in on one certain little itty bitty “finding of fact” about this past AA attendance of his: Herry had gone to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting twice in 1977—and, then ah well, oopsy, … never once again … … until … Herry’s showing up at one fairly soon after he, alone, moved to Ames those four July and August 1987 weeks in which Zane and Jesse had finished up their Junior Zookeeper positions at the Manhattan Sunset Zoo, and they and Mirzah and I didn't arrive in Ames until their birthdays. By the time Dr. Herod Edinsmaier as Herry‑Daddee appeared before district ‘court’ judges in 1989, and 1990, and 1992, and not including the times before appellate judges in 1991, and 1994, … to hear him tell it—all, of course, in sworn testimonial ‘evidence’, why, Dr. Edinsmaier had racked up a grand total of 12!, then 13!, and finally then 15 years! of sobriety and clean, familial living through alleged and apparently ‘bona fide’ Alcoholics Anonymous meetings’ attendance!
JYeah, riiiiight … Accountability for what was reality? And Truth? Something altogether different. Attending meetings regularly? Truth was two, three and five years and all but one of those years conveniently and ostentatiously during the concurrent ones of Herry’s custody litigation and court appearances. As far as genuinely sober and living clean, let alone, living clean within our family!? Herry had not drunk alcohol for 11, then 13, then 15 years. But that was all.
When I learned what a sponsor is meant to be, I learned, too, what a sponsor is not. The position is supposed to provide leadership and counsel—and both … within reality. Ha. As far as Varry Wussamai being a well of reality for Herry, hhmmm, suffice it to say, there could not have been a more opposite function for Varry W within Herry’s true life. Herry E loved BSing with Varry W because when he did, Herry E too, could escape accountability and act as if he hadn’t a care in the World. Just like Varry W.
* * * *
I have no idea if Herry E caught up that particular Monday night with the McKenzie Avenue Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and Mr. Varry Wussamai or not. What Dr. Edinsmaier had, indeed however, caught up with by late the very next afternoon was an apartment with a garage even, an address, a telephone and … demands. I heard later that certain folks had put the Good and Pillared Doctor in touch with certain other folks who knew certain realtors with certain rental complexes and whatever else Herry needed to immediately get started living on his own—and all the while at the very same time, not skip beat one down at the pathology laboratory. Wasn’t like he had Child One to look after the care and placement of either. Let alone … three of them to whom to administer … himself. Alone. Everyone in the Good Doctor’s circle knew that Herry drove an ol’ white Toyota wagon clunker; but they knew, too, that he did that by choice. Because he liked old jalopies. Not because he wasn’t a parvenu or didn’t possess the panacean pesos for one better.
So. When Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, Community Pillar and who loved to think of and actually verbally referred to himself as the Doctors’ Doctor, wanted to have things hop—and hop now, like chop–chop––, why, he just pulled out the big bucks or the appearance of same through the credit card, said a few words to a couple of utility agencies or some such—mostly over the telephone or by way of ordering one of those numerous subordinate women who worked for him to do the calling around for him instead, authorized the dollars to begin flying and flowing and, voila, he had pretty much all of what it was he needed to have. Right then.
No little kids to get up, dress, feed, find quality daycare for … so that he could apartment‑hunt and utility‑shop. None. None in the way of all of that … that accountability, that is. Much as if on the order of a business tycoon or soap opera mogul and the likes of which, before this hindering hiatal marriage of his, had most impressed Mehitable. Mighty ‘soft’‑spoken along with the charade of the slightest timidity and helplessness to it all, this sham of Herry’s was his usual flashy choreography that I had seen him brandish around as often as he could find reason to flaunt it. Witness, after all, how it’d been with Realtor Cornball just a short 11 months earlier when Dr. Herod Edinsmaier had strolled into the Othello Drive woodland manse in the first place and been sold on buying it because of its massive living room picture window. Signing a purchase agreement right then and there. Not a word in consultation or ponderance with the little woman on this life‑altering, that is, this house‑buying‑for‑the‑entire‑family matter whatsoever. Just Do It. Just Did It.
That, in less than 24 hours, is what happened for Herry this time, too. Marital separation did not appear to me to be any big deal at all for Herry. He immediately took up where he’d left off in December 1976. Being single. Not uncoupled, mind you. Just definitely unmarried.
His demands were another story and a very big deal for me. I was deluded completely. Operating under my so, so stupid assumption that Herry was living up on 24th Street now as a way to heal, to mend, to step back, to inventory himself and, most of all, to change that which was mightily in need of it so that he could hurry back to us all still there in that feral manor of his as soon as possible, I believed in marital separation as most of the answer to accomplishing this repair and restoration. Some time physically apart would allow Dr. Herod Edinsmaier the space needed to think through where changes needed to be effected, not? Huh. I myself tried learning, too, from these fiascoes that were Al-Anon and open AA meetings—when Herry physically had the Boys. We women were all just throwing spit to the wind for all the talking done at these that meant anything real––we women who were so subserviently and so dangerously entrenched, sunk deeeep in to the swampy swill that is bill w’s chapter eight.
Herry demanded up at his one‑bedroom rental there on 24th Street that he have custody of Zane, Jesse and Mirzah, every single weekend. I made my second incredibly grave mistake. Not only had I, long, long ago it now seemed to me, shared to Herry about my two five‑day sleeplessness episodes when shit had happened to hit my relationship fan with John, but I also now assented to Herry’s having the Boys go stay with him overnight at his apartment, indeed, every single Friday night and Saturday night. Summertime was just starting. Mirzah, Jesse and Zane, now 8½, 9½ and 11½, needed their daddy, didn’t they? What could it hurt? Magnanimous, too, wasn’t I?
Not! What I was was an imbecile.
* * * *
[continued next week…]
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dr. Legion True: One Fucked Mother
Dr. Herod (Herry) Edinsmaier: Legion’s husband/ex/“Sperm Source” [“re: I am snide” backwards]
Jesse Truemaier: Legion’s son
Zane Truemaier: Legion’s son
Mirzah Truemaier: Legion’s son
AmTaham True: Legion’s father [Mahatma backwards]
Mehitable True: Legion’s mother [Me hit-able—i.e. she was abusive]
Ardys and Endys: Legion’s sisters [names backwards]
Sterling: Legion’s brother [her mother’s planned name of next son (who never came)]
Mi Sprision O'Revinnoco: Herry’s sister [misprision: concealing knowledge of treason/O'Revinnoco = O'Connivero backwards]
Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier: Legion’s father-in-law [juggernaut; aut = 0; misein = “to hate (misogyny)”]
Detanimod Edinsmaier: Legion’s mother-in-law [dominated backwards]
Fannie Issicran McLive: fawning enabler of ex [narcissi(st) and Mc(Evil) backwards]
Legion’s Friends: Yanira, Stormy, Lynda, László, Jane, Kincaid, Joseph, Sheryl
Legion’s Best Friends: Ms Grace and Dr Lionel Portia
Wende: = Legion's friend after divorce [committed suicide due to Custody Crisis]
Jim Cornball: Herry’s acquaintance from AA and realtor
Loser Lorn: Insurance agent referred by Cornball
Judge Harley Butcher: Family Court judge
Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor: Family Court judge
Judge Barry Crowrook: Appellate Court judge
Judge Pansy Shawshank: Appellate Court judge
Jazzy Jinx: Legion’s Family Court lawyer who sold her out
Shindy Scheisser: Herry’s lawyer [shindy = noisy; scheisser = German for shithead]
Li Zhang: Herry’s Aussie affair
Dr Freddie Goldstein & Ella: Herry’s colleague and wife
Mick: = Herry's acquaintance from high school; best man [not in Herry’s life after that as he had no true friends]
Varry Wussamai: Herry's AA sponsor (not a real friend) [I am a wuss backwards]
David Humes: nursing student; classmate of Legion's, y1968 - y1971, New York City
Edmund Silver: Legion's boyfriend pre-Herry
Braemore St: where Legion and her family lived, y1983 - y1986
Havencourt condominium: Legion's Ames apartment; after separation
Zephyr: tabby cat of Zane's, Mirzah's, Jesse's [pronounced “Zay – fear”]
Author: Dr. Blue, aka Ofherod, BSN, DVM, PhD = Commander Edinsmaier's Handmaid (Commander reiamsnidE's Handmaid)
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AA and it's sphere have done much to damage women and children. The gaslighting and brainwashing are rampant. And of course, as in family court, no accountability exists for the perpetrator. Thank you for sharing this.