I do try to not be a violent person. I make efforts to control my fighting tendencies. I enjoy the freedom of pugilistic endeavors as much as the next heathen, but to ball up my fists and smash them into the face of a person I used to call a friend, and who is more than 70 pounds lighter than me and a way girly girl – so not my style. I enjoy the manipulative type of tactics not unlike a honeybee seeking the best honeysuckle flower in the spring. Destroying a person’s mind and crippling their resolve is more my style; although the urge to wrap my fingers around her puny little neck and squeeze until I heard the last bit of breath escaping her lungs while none had gained entry was once a daily thought I entertained; but being of a sound intellect and not wanting to spend the next century in prison, fending off the nightly broom handle attacks, I resisted that urge till it burned off like morning dew under a hot June sun.
Now, I just seem to lose my ability to think and handle stress when I’m around her too much. The fact that the person who jammed a butcher’s cleaver into my back and twisted teaches only 50 feet from me is like a slow parasite burrowing its way into my soul. I see her, and am torn between the former friend feelings and the violent urge to destroy her will to live.
So, that brings me to today, regardless of the constant rumors of how she and my ex are all but living together (and, yay me: I haven’t once driven by either of their places to determine if this rumor is true.) and how they are always all over each other, it was the big unveil.
It was a school-wide assembly; and, I knew all eyes would be on both her and I when we were seen together since the first time it all came out about two weeks ago. I made sure to not walk into the gym at the same time as her, to avoid the scene it would cause, and instead walked in late – head high, past her without a glance and handled my business with the kids. I laughed, enjoyed the assembly while she graded papers and was, in general, a cold-hearted bitch.
Afterward, word got back to me that the general agreement amongst the teachers, as apparently they had all observed our actions during the assembly (as if I had expected less), and the comments most oft repeated were “I don’t know how she can keep from beating her ass.” “She’s got great self control, how great is that?” “What a slut (not meaning me).”
I’ve decided it’s time to go take back my dignity with great force from the empty vastness within which it has been hiding.
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