I have gotten more than a few jobs on the strength of my personality alone. I have always been a "take charge," confident, assertive type of person. I'd be the one barking orders in a crisis.
I have been in my share of fist fights with both men and women. I once pulled a grown man out of the window of the cab of a truck just so I could beat his ass. I'm not kidding. (He needed an ass beating, trust me.) I was in my 20s when that happened and have mellowed a bit since then, but there is still very little that intimidates me.
For the first time in my life, I'm afraid--not just worried, truly afraid. My own heart is standing with its foot on my neck, having beaten me down, my spirit vanquished.
I'm not afraid of dying, mind you. Dying is a piece of cake - one minute you're here, the next you're not. End of story.
I am afraid of living: I'm afraid of being helpless and at the mercy of some minimum wage lackey. I'm afraid of unending, unstoppable, untreatable pain. I'm afraid of running out of money or insurance. I am afraid of being mistreated and not being able to fight back, my shitty heart effectively tying my hands.
Then there are the dogs, and a whole different, but similar set of fears come into play with them.
You see, I do not believe in the kindness of strangers and I do not believe that people are inherently good--most people are assholes. Life is just a big crap shoot, and right now mama needs a new pair of shoes more than ever before.
And some assholes turn out to be exactly what you need to have around. Big hugs to you today and every day. When you look over your shoulder, it will be me you see, ready to catch you if you stumble and push you if you need that too. Keep fighting, Tart liver!!
ReplyDeleteYou provide tremendous moral support, DonDon. Thanks for being my friend. ~Pie
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