What am I redefining?
My anger.
I woke up with the sun, to find dog hairs lying on the radiant floors with nothing to do but annoy the hell outta me. How dare they!!
Then, I spot THE PURSE, on the floor, at the back of the ottoman. It appears innocent enough, gaping open. Until I saw the bits of foil, strewn plastic, gobs of paper and shredded cardboard that looks slightly familiar. I see the Dog, head bent, slinking a bit away from the scene. Taking care to go BEHIND the couch instead of towards me.
Aha!
The top of the grapefruit gummy bag is evidence, tucked underneath the side chair. A few wads of tissue gape in front of the tv screen. My business cards are wet, guey, and smeared. The top part of the paperback novel looks drenched, as though it fell onto the top step of the pool, and was slowly being gobbled by the water.
The W-9 has chunks out of it.
I stopped in shock, swept onto the scene of the crime in a flash.
Fury overtook me.
Exasperation.
Guilt that I’d left my purse available for the Dog to snatch from the edge of the countertop.
The innards of the purse are ripped so much so, it’s hard to decipher the separate compartments.
My new purse.
I gifted myself for Christmas.
Is pretty much toast.
I rage for all of five minutes then sadness overtakes me.
Why does this happen to me turns into shit I did this to myself.
I know better than to leave things out, even when I’m SURE they are outta his reach.
Understand he’s crafty. And can’t help himself.
It’s just his way.
His addiction.
And he has no mechanism to stop.
- No guilt.
- No apology.
So I let him slink under the table.
And let my anger outward, aimed the arrow directed at the target - my heart - then moved the point to the sky, and let it fly away.
Where it belongs.
Out THERE somewhere. Away from harm.
The memory made it's way to The Forgiveness folder.
To be filed.
BAD behavior Not forgotten.
Because there WILL BE a next time.
And I’ll be more ready.