“You think your life is going one way, then you look over here and it’s different… in a blink of an eye, it changes…grab what you can while you can…”
I know I’m late to the party. Just started season 1 of Ozark.ย Just got Netflix: blessing and a curse. On one hand I’m embarrassed of my obession, on the other, I’m happy it’s making me think. When I think, I write. I been thinking. And so, I’ve been writing. Which, for a writer, is always a good thing. Especially in my case.
I just turned 45. If you’ve been following me you know the journey I’m on. I’m not wealthy, nor a money launderer, but damn: the saga of Wendy and James Byrde…has captivated me because it relates to my own. I love how art imitates life because when all else fails-it inspires me to write.
There’s a scene in episode 8, where Wendy mentions “not belonging,” being a “fraud…” in [her] head all the time...”I’m just a big existential mess–“
When she says these things, she’s unemployed, unraveling and vulnerable and as for fans of the series, who’ve watched all the seasons up ’til now, you know what happened between Wendy Byrde and Gary Silverberg and how it destroyed but then rejuvenated Wendy and Marty’s marriage. It parallells my own life-except I’m Marty and my husband is Wendy. I could be veering out of my lane here, but I’ll say this: I need(ed) a vacation from myself-and in a way, I got (am on one).
We’ll call him “S.” S is saucy. We found each other-rather, he found me on Facebook-the way all these sordid stories begin–and come to tragic ends. Well, I’m getting ahead of myself-perhaps the end will not be tragic. In fact, I ho0e it won’t. I don’t really want it to end, but it must, and that devastates me. I may have been falling in love.
It started with a flattering message; ” you still using your high school pic?” (I’m 45 years old dude, really? ) But still-it worked. I’m wide open.
“You l0ok amazing.”
Hook. Line. Sinker. I took the bait.
I haven’t spoken to “S” since high school nearly 20 years ago-and he 0nly attended the school for the last year. In fact, the only class I remember having with him is drama. He didn’t even go to prom…
But of course I was flattered by the compliments, which if you know me, can get you everywhere. ( I know the risk I’m taking by saying that, but t0 potential vultures, you must know, I know you read this-fuck off. I mean this in the kindest way possible.)
Like I said. I was vulnerable; no job, kids, failing marriage, feeling irrelevant at my age-no longer turning heads like I did in my youth-my husband, who at one time told me how beautiful I was, barely looks at me-it takes it’s toll. So when I told “S” to “stop”and he continued to flatter and flatter, I began to wade in the water and baby, I got in deep. He was so impressed with what I’d done or was doing with my life-the interest he’d shown-nobody had-well, not who I wanted at least. He was a man who thought I was beautiful and sexy and wanted to get to “know me.”
Warning: For Mature Audiences Only…
When he asked on what had to have been the second or third text, if I’d sit on his face, I should have stopped it-like Marty t0ld Wendy she could have when Gary asked for her number, and so on, and so on until the inevitable happened. But, I didn’t.
To be Continued.
My Power. My Pleasure. My Pain. 
Whew sounds hot and heavy. You really do have a knack for painting a picture. I canโt wait until the next chapter!!
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