Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

It’s midnight, and I just had a confrontation with slime. Apparently he will be suing me for millions of dollars. For what, I’m not sure. But would that mean that I have millions of dollars? Now that’s news I would like to hear.

He was truly scary to look at—and I looked today, he was right in front of me and I wanted to see what evil looks like, I wanted to see what it looks like to be devoid of humanity. And it was scary. It was red. It was shaking all over. Its eyes had an evil detachment, as if only the evil and nastiness bulbs were in existence inside. Even the hand that held the little tape recorder friend that I spoke into to say “You’re slime” was shaking.

As I sit here on the floor with Poops beside me and my daughters in their rooms (older, having yelled at me, too, to turn down the radio that I cranked up to drown out the sound of him; and younger, looking at me with a scary, scared blankness when he came into her room when I was talking to her and started yelling at me and ordering her about) I summon an ego stroke, or it comes to me, to service me.

I think of friends, and I think of the man at work who for the past two years has dropped by my classroom or teachers’ lounge to see me smile, which he says makes his day. Never mind that he made a pass months ago and I turned him down, he still comes by and makes me feel good, makes me feel appreciated for just being me, makes me believe in the inherent goodness in me. And that, my friends, is an ego boost; one that helps me pass to a stability of mind that will let me get through the next 49 days (my “election” day) when hopefully there will be a judge on the bench who is able to truly judge things. Obama has his countdown, I have mine.

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