When you forget who you are.....

...there always someone there to remind you.

"You fucking bitch, watch where you're going!!"

Thank you small, bald man in the BMW. Thank you for your intelligent expletives in this moment of of our paths nearly crossing, in this moment of my most recent traffic transgression. Thank you. You'll never know how your small, round head glowng red with rage was so like a beacon to me, NO - like a lighthouse. Yeah, a lighthouse...calling me back to harbour.

At first, there was just this primal urge to retaliate, to defend myself. My hand went up, my fist closed, it pressed against the window...but then that special finger stayed where it was. And I swallowed the words whole. I smiled my most winniest of smiles and I let them swim down into this place of deeper knowing...and there it was - I AM a bitch. No, I am a FUCKING bitch. Sweet.

Not that being a bitch is any special talent. But getting a backbone is. And, in times of great need, it's the same thing. It's the thing I put to bed as the rest of me climbs between the sheets....as my most secret thoughts fornicate in the darkness, giving birth to monsters feeding on my alcohol soaked brain....laying there as they play spin doctor for what we really are. As I've done for the last four years. Four years?! Really. Ach! Oh - don't get me wrong, friends, I've had many great loves in between. But it's always back to this one. This one. The One? Holding on until the next 2 am text message. Sometimes I start it up. Sometimes you do. And I will never say no. Helpless to deny you. (Backbone. Bitch. Backbone) Always worried about you and how your travels through this life are going. Wanting to give a moment of comfort. Love? Quiet? Ecstacy? Take a moment of all of the above? I don't know anymore. Does it matter? The delivery system for this tonic is physical, furtive...ever since the river between us has filled to overflowing. It's too deep to just step across anymore. So every weekend our bodies build a rickety bridge that neither of us has the courage to cross. Or tear down.

I want you to go away. I want you to stay. I want you to show up at my doorstep and fall on your knees. I want you to take me out for a coffee in the daylight and ask me what I think about wearing red socks with brown pants. About the price of tomatoes in winter. About An Inconvenient Truth. You're an inconvenient truth, my love.....and I'm a fucking bitch.

Where's the middle ground in that?