I have a confession

I did something very immature and childish, yes even spiteful. Walking through the school at pickup Friday, I saw the puppet master. I began to shake with indignation and anger. I wanted to walk up and confront her, I wanted to say: "How dare you attack the personal reputation of a man who has more integrity in the tip of his little finger than you could dredge up in your whole existance!" I wanted to make her see how delusional and petty and downright nasty she is with her lies, and how relieved I was that someone else had seen this and called her a liar to her face. And that maybe she would now cease playing the victim and go get a life away from me and mine.

But I did not.



What did I do?

Stood there so mad, and shaking and tongue-tied, and regressed into the same playground mentality of her and her little posse...

And called (quietly so only she could hear):


"Liar, liar, pants on fire."


Oh, the shame.

But a little funny now in hindsight.

Only a little.

And I'm meant to have a way with words, *bah*...

Well, I guess I have finally lived up to the delusional lies she has been spreading and *personally attacked* her.

Found One - but I think there was another...

Or maybe not?  And how crap do I feel, my only excuse is that whole holiday passed in a bit of an insanely manic bubble of time. Thank God for Google.

So sorry. It was the wonderful Mel, my muse and inspiration...

I will be back to spread the love after my self flagellation is completed.

Okay - Seriously Blonde Moment

I know someone gave me an award whilst I was away on holidays with limited internet access, but I can't for the life of me remember who or what for...

My humble apologies, I know I commented my thanks on your blog, and am off doing some serious searching, but if you read this could you please post me the link in a comment.

I am so embarrassed and humiliated. Just think: I was once an organised, intelligent, articulate woman. Well, that sure ain't so anymore!

An Example of my Bad Poetry

This was written a few months back. One of the few not on my MySpace blog of old.

PAIN

Can you hear that?

It is the sound of my heart breaking, again.

Like the arctic ice shattering

Or a fine crystal glass hitting the floor.

A thousand small shards shooting into darkened corners

They will be gathered and fitted jigsaw-like together

Bound tightly with tape

Only a few small pieces missed, unseen.

And my brittle smile will hide the piercing pain

As each tiny shard puncture internally when I move

Rupturing life, seeping blood, killing me quietly.