Getting It Out of My System

I did a good thing yesterday, a healing thing.  I’ve been stewing over the MF’s treatment of me since January.  Now he’s come slithering around acting as though nothing happened between us, trying to chat me up in the gym.  He even sat himself down at a table next to where I was having dinner with my good friend Frances on the anniversary of Clint’s death.  Just plopped his ass down and turned his chair toward us, even asked if he could have a taste of our appetizer.

When he went to the bar to get a glass of wine, Frances, who is 83, and I looked at one another.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.  

“What any self-respecting lady would do - be nice and get the hell out of here as fast as we can.!  We don’t dare risk a scene.”

She was right, of course.  We ate and made our exit as soon as possible.

I’ve been a little distracted by the thing with Michael, but the thing with Loren has also been chewing at me.

So,  yesterday afternoon, I sat down and wrote a poem.  It was cleansing and healing, and though I may edit it some, I went ahead and posted it on My Poems.  

God, I feel better.  Click here to read it, but be warned that it is rated R.  If you can’t tolerate the f-word, skip this one.  

© cj Schlottman

Wednesday, June 29, 2011