My mother said there would be days like these, indeed. I tried to avoid it longer, to get to the cottage safely, Ma, but I didn't make it. Days like these always really suck. I've left men. I've kicked men out. I've left whole lives behind a couple times. I've (temporarily) relinquished the care of my children twice when I have been forced to do so by the men and the lives. I've rarely left jobs, and never changed career fields, so I am in new territory on that; I have been poor, I hope that counts as experiential learning. I am familiar with the prickly back-of-the-neck sensation of a hostile evironment being enjoyed by someone in power over me, the chilly shadow thrown over my body of sanctioned menace. Yes, I am quite familiar with that. I cannot say that I feel unafraid or that I am not bereft. My body is certainly doing its bereft routine, dropping weight like a stone, the flight/fight response, hardening right before my eyes in the mirror as it prepares, muscles tight, carving themselves into what looks like hours spent at a gym but it is actually the result of a million clenches like my molecules are each doing squats, and I feel like utter shit ft. resplendent, an inverse proportional resulting in looking fucking fantastic as if by dark magic. My body and I recognize the sensation of my back against a wall and the man in front of me must be made to move, to make a hard choice about which way he will jump as I come out of cornered right at him, and what that choice will likely be (regrettable). I have never forced several to jump at once. That'll be new today.
Hmm. What is the soundtrack ... 🤔
cleaning my gun - mark knopfler
