Whole Lotta Booty-Kissin' Going On

Last week, I started to document my journey to a better life for me and my kids. For those who may not have read, I've finally had enough of emotional, verbal, and psychological abuse after living it for 20 years. I deserve better than that, and, at the age of 43, I don't want to spend my remaining years unhappy.

The honeymoon phase of the cycle has continued. Sickeningly sweet for the better part of the time, I think the hubby has realized that something is amiss but can't quite pinpoint it. He made it a point to make sure I knew that he was taking the kids to church on Sunday. No offers of or attempts made at helping around the house, but it's almost like I'm being sent the message of "Hey! I know something's wrong, but I'm instantly going to be a great person!" Yeah, maybe for now.

The temptation to just chalk all of this up to me having a bad few days and forgetting it is strong. I have to resist the urge to just carry on as before. If I don't, it's only a matter of time before I'm right back to square one, and I just can't do it. I have to focus.

Last night, I got a glimpse into why my backside has lip marks all over it.

I need to preface this next part with an important point. The hubby has been given anything he wants all his life. Sure, he's worked hard for a lot of things, but he's always made sure that what HE wants is paramount. He gets an idea planted in his head, and it turns into an obsession until he gets what he wants. There is no logic behind it. He's a junkie who needs to satisfy a craving.

He asked me last night what I thought of a piece of property that sits immediately off the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Primo property, it has been the site of three failed restaurants. I don't know why, but it has.

The reason he asked was revealed next. He thinks it would be a great place to put a franchise restaurant and offer travelers more of a choice when stopping for food. The idea is great, but the implementation is what bothers me. Done the right way, the potential is there to do very well.

Looking into the initial cost, we discovered that it's going to take a total of $1.3 to $2.3 million just to get the doors open. That price includes real estate. My stomach turned.

"WE have to gamble big!!" he said.

"Yes, but when you gamble big, you can lose big. I don't want to lose everything." was my reply.

His solution to the potential loss of everything we've worked for (especially the house)? Move in with his parents. Oh joy. There's something that'll push me over the edge.

While I understand that you don't get anywhere without risk, I just can't back this idea. It falls under the "Does your abuser accumulate debt for you to handle?" category. It makes me sick.

I bought tickets for Wednesday's Powerball jackpot. Pray that "my Limbaugh baby" wins!!! He wouldn't have to worry about anyone else getting half.