The After Pt.3

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The After – Part 3

The After – Pt. 1

The After – Pt 2

As Drew recollected his last few encounters with his father, his pace slowed.  He was drawn into uncharted territory, a place within where regret resided. His mother was ill and the elder had pleaded with Drew to visit.

The preoccupied and ever busy Drew had managed to make the final visit. Unfortunately, only after she had succumbed. He’d taken the time she had for granted. Even toyed with the naivety that she would get better. Yes, her death was eventual but not in a manner of months. Diagnosis, treatment, and death under thirteen months was swift and cruel.

Constant talk of impending death had frightened Drew. It was as though it was his own mortality up for discussion. Scared, not only for his mother but for himself. He feared death.

His mother, thankfully, had endured and made it to his wedding spectacle. It was an excessive marital ritual, both economically and emotionally. Drew felt Becky manipulated him by using his mother’s illness to get closer to owning the ring. Becky would never know that Drew saw their marriage as a frivolous ride he could not get off.

Becky seemed to take Drew’s mother’s illness too casually, like picking a holiday destination and purchasing a new car. Having this perception made him even less accommodating of his wife. Convinced it was just another ploy to get to control him he withdrew rapidly. With Becky he refused to discuss his mother. Becky called it ‘denial’, her diminishing patience eventually lead to her desperate conversations of their problems.

All Drew wished was to make his mother comfortable and marriage to Becky seemed to fit the bill.  He spent whole afternoons in his old bedroom crying and poring over old photographs, letters and notes from his precious mother. Even in the realms of marriage he felt absolute loneliness.

No one was to ever know or see the hurt it caused knowing that his mother was ebbing away. His inability to reach out to take away the pain rendered him helpless. Drew found all of this unbearable.

Drew sat prematurely mourning her death until he shut himself off emotionally. Self-contained from his mother’s illness and all associated business to do with her demise.

Drew grew evasive especially conversations which included his mother’s treatment and her progress. His father was waning and would spend nights away from home. Drew could not and therefore did not offer support.

Opportunities would arise when he wanted to explain how he pained but looking at this stout manly figure of his father, Drew thought better of it. His father’s patience grew thin and he stopped contacting his selfish son altogether.

Unknown to his father, Drew had attended the hospital regularly. Mostly at night to avoid other family members. She being heavily sedated, Drew would forever wonder if his mother was aware of his evening visits. Or if she knew who held her hand late into the night. Her hand did not have the same grip. Remembering the grip that could execute that an acute pinch was rendered almost useless now. 

Towards the end he was forced to attend her bedside less as his father was in attendance more frequently.

The day of his mother’s passing Drew was, on his fathers orders, humiliatingly day marched out of the hospital by his uncles.

This was the day he ignored all of Becky’s calls. Without reading he deleted each and every text as they alerted his phone. Could she not see, at this time, he needed to be the bereaved son and not the flawed husband.

The only place of comfort was back at the office. It was almost the end of the day. So he just sat at his desk and openingly wept.

The temp tapped lightly on the door and breezed in to the office in a figure hugging skirt. Silently offering a much needed distraction. Her fiery red hair held full flirtatious curls which brushed his shoulders as she leaned in to pick up a pen. She was aware that he required no sympathy. None was offered as she pulled up a chair, squeezed his thigh and scribbled on a Post-It Note, ‘Wanna chill?’ 

At this Drew, nodded. Turned off his mobile. Grabbed his overcoat. Then followed the temp out of the room.

After two days holed up in a plush Battersea apartment, overlooking the park Drew switched on his phone. His phone vibrated furiously to a backlog of texts and voicemails. He showered. Thanked the temp and departed casually. Destination home. 

At home Becky was in her usually state of frenzy. Fuck it, she was always mad. Drew went straight to the bedroom with all intention of packing. Then an image of his mother surfaced. He locked the door, crumpled and sobbed. He got in the bed and pulled the covers over his head, hoping that the darkness will extend some temporary ease. It did not. His mother was gone.  The loss felt raw yet the cold world kept relentlessly moving on. There was no structure or sequence to his thoughts, everything was random and meaningless.

One thing that remained constant was Becky’s scratchy voice penetrating through the walls delivering hourly updates of why he was such a self serving bastard.

Over the next few days Drew’s father still refused to speak to him but sent messages through Becky of the funeral arrangements. This was taken as an insult, not backing down Drew replied with the request to be told personally.

Two days later the personal call from his father came. At which time Drew was too pissed to care. He ignored them. The calls turned from direct orders to pathetic pleas. Drew felt vindicated. He was glad that his father was hurting. Still that did not solve the problem of having to face everyone. He knew the funeral would be too much pressure that he would find intolerable. So he made the decision not to attend.

A day after the service a letter arrived from his father telling him he no longer considered him his son. End of story.

So why now did Drew feel disappointed at his father’s non attendance? How could the elder not show his last respects, after all Drew did all his father’s dirty work. Drew could not understand where this rush of affection for his father had sprung from. At any rate Drew knew his father was elsewhere.

Gabrielle was aware of him approaching, the man with the distinct eyes yet she couldn’t take hers off her married lover at her graveside. 

My 2013

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2013

This time last year I held a perception of New Year 2012 which is completely different to the one I now have of 2013. 

 I thought New Year, New Start and I hoped that I would stumble upon a small fortune and live happily ever after.

Instead, I had a challenge of a year, absolutely dynamic! I used every part of my being to stop myself giving up. I wrestled with decision after decision yet I held up physically, mentally and sought spiritual reassurance from many sources. I held no prejudice I just kept on looking for guidance and sure enough even though vague (at times) my inner voice spoke to me.

It was a tough year but I made it and most importantly my dreams are still intact. I feel more confident within myself and steady on my feet.

2012 I learnt a lot about myself, rather than fast money making skills. I learnt that I have many flaws which I have always amplified and defined myself by. Now I have embraced them and am learning to accept myself for who I wonderfully am.

Mostly, I have decided it is perfectly alright to dream, without it, I would not be on the stepping stones to accomplishing some of my goals.

I come from a family of strong independent women. My grandmother, mother, aunts, cousins and sister. Yet I always considered myself ‘The Weakest Link’ as I am highly sensitive. When the ‘going gets rough’ I usually ‘get going!’ Unlike my female family members who are able to ride adversity with ease.

For the coming year 2013 – I simply want to be a better person for the benefit of those around me.

What else could possibly be more important?

 

Image credit : http://fbca.org/seniors2013

Short Story – A Woman’s Regret

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A WOMAN’S REGRET

Of late, I have started to feel my heart. The part which had been untouched by the possibility that life can be radiant. You see, life has its sneaky way of having you accept that hurt and betrayal are part of our existence. It took a long time to feel it but this piece of my heart now feels love. Without resisting I realize that I am powerful. By acknowledging love and letting love gather momentum inside, I have to smile. I feel gratitude I made it this far.  I learnt from Sinead. Now she’s gone, I realize her love for people and life. How her love had a way of intensifying her surroundings, of course, I would have been affected by it.

My life has not been easy. So simple it was to retreat from all social expectation. Yes, it was easy. I shut away the hurt which pained me on a daily basis. The constant ritual of comparing myself to others was mind numbing. I cooked up ways of how people could get to me and just stayed away. Now that Sinead is no longer here she has left a void which only I can fill.

I remember when I was younger and fell in love. His name was Terrence and worked at the local Post Office.  Sitting behind the counter, so approachable and happy. Hell! I was happy because he seemed happy! Before long we were dating and all seemed grand. There were things he never told me which would later emerge and I would feel their consequences. I ignored the signs of things to come.

Why should I wonder if he grabbed my arm a little too tight? Maybe he was tired, after all he did work long hours.

Wasn’t it normal for him to know my exact whereabouts? Fifteen minutes can be a long time to wait.

Wasn’t it concern when he criticised friends? Yes, maybe my friends were a bit too happy go lucky.

All the signs were there and yet because I was being self-less and felt he needed me, I ignored all of this. When I fell pregnant the first time, the already present cracks deepened. Setting the foundation for a permanent place in our relationship.

How was I suppose to know that Terrence had bigger plans? He had wanted to travel and experience the world at large. I didn’t know,  he never told me. I am not a mind reader! Everything he said surely was borne out of anger.

“I never wanted kids or you! I had ambitions, I wanted to see the world, not your ever pregnant, lazy arse!’ He boomed.

I myself would have had dreams if I were allowed to dream. Sometimes people seem to take up so much of you. Now I know that’s ONLY if you let them.

I let him control everything. I began to over-think. I racked my brain with details so small with what should have been simple tasks. The clothes I should wear, the colours and on what day. Even this could send Terrance into a frenzy. He would say I wore a black dress to guarantee him a bad day. If I wore yellow I was mocking him as my life was ideal and his wasn’t. The most painful of all was if I wore red then I was looking for trouble. Painful trouble! So I just avoided wearing black, yellow or red.

Over time the grip of my arm would be tighter and felt on different parts of my body. His strong manly hands were never felt around my throat yet I felt strangled. A slow living  death.

What does one do when they want to love, when they want to feel love. They stay and hope. They hope and create an illusion. An illusion only in their minds about how things should be, sit tight and live in vain. This takes patience and is stupid.

We were raising three girls, all a product of a weird union. Two people that no longer wanted to be together, but still stayed. Was it the anger and discontentment which kept us together and so apart? Tragically this was our comfort zone. The amniosty between us was the glue which kept us together. As much as I was scared of him I was also scared of the unknown. Better the devil you know, they say. This little paraphrase has, I am certain, ruined and cost many lives.

Now, I ask, “Would I have done anything differently?”

The answer is,”Yes!”

Why?

The feeling of euphoria whilst sticking the knife as far as it could go only lasted seconds. I wished it lasted longer.

Today feeling my heart, I realise I had power. I always had it. The power to love myself. The power to just walk away.

I no longer see my daughters as they were taken away from me. I’ll gladly forget the now quiet Terrence for tragically taking ME away from ME.

THE END

Why Strangers Count…

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Don’t forget to be kind to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it

The above resonates with me as in my life experience there has never been a quote which I can relate to on such a personal level.
At this time I feel the need to personalise my blog.  This is due to the encouragement and inspiration I have drawn from people who I have only met once or who are not family. In passing or fleeting moments, I have told strangers about my aspirations of writing and always received wonderful, positive responses. So to me they are truly ANGELS.
I am lucky as even though the people who support me are not family I get support nonetheless. Can you believe that out of all my family members, there is only ONE cousin who reads my blog and truly believes in me. Yes, ONE.
Maybe because of my past failures and my consistent habit of not seeing tasks through to the end my family have me written up as a ‘failure’ – That’s my perception, anyway.
That’s why I believe that strangers do count…Now I feel it’s high time I personalise my blog. I started it to journal my journey as a writer. It sounded so romantic at the time. Then I got ‘cold feet’ and started doubting my writing abilities and chucked out bits of posts which in all honeslty could have done with a lot more effort and LOVE.
My first step is to post my picture to let my readers/followers know who I am.
THIS IS ME
I have not been honest especially to myself about my efforts to become a writer as I have been shoddy and lazy. More importantly I have been using the word ‘procrastination’ without merit. I believe when a person procrastinates they eventually get the task at hand done. Whereas I have so many writing tasks which I have left open ended. To give myself credit, I have been writing when I felt down which is better than not writing at all I suppose.
Over the past couple of months I have been though a tough time – Yes, I know it’s called LIFE. I have accepted responsibility for everything which has not worked out.
I did not manage to finish my degree and will not be graduating with the rest of my year. I got overwhelmed with the workload, started to panic and just flaked. So in true ‘Veronica-Style’ I gave up! A mix of trying to be a perfectionist and lack of focus led me to produce nothing.

Last month I had a job interview at a top London university library which would have been ideal yet due to a stupid lack of judgement I missed it. I felt numb. This is just an example of some of the hideously sloppy things I have done and have on constant replay in my head.
I have four sons who rely on me for everything. I encourage them to pursue anything they hold as a desire because they ‘can do anything they put their minds to’ yet I seldom take my own advice.
I try hard to be grateful for the life that I have as I am fully aware that I am blessed and there are many people who are less fortunate than myself. Yet, saying this it’s all so easy to sit and dwell especially when you feel lonely. Worse, when all you want to do is stay in bed and hide from the real world; because of responsiblities you have no choice but to get up and face everything.  As you have four young people who are depending on you, watching you and learning from every move you make. So you have to grin and bear it and put the best out for them. So you soldier on…
I hope this post does not come across as too melodramtic and self-pitying , I just wanted to expres myself to my readers/followers and sort of explain why I hardly post.
If you have got this far I suppose I must be doing something right and I thank you wholeheartedly for your time.
As always, I ask you to leave any valuable comments/criticisms or even your own experiences of failure/success. Thank you.

#BarışAkarsu – Tragic Turkish Delight

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Barış Akarsu

I wanted to write a short blog post about a Turkish rock star who on July 4th 2007 died tragically.

His name is Barış Akarsu.

The same year he died had to be one of the most challenging times of my life. I had to deal with so much but its amazing where one can draw inspiration to enable them to keep pushing forward.

I had never heard of Barış Akarsu prior to his fatal accident. I had read online about a Turkish entertainer that was in a coma after a car accident. So I just followed the story to see whether he would pull through. Unfortunately Barış did not recover.

There was massive media coverage of the accident on DHA – A Turkish News Agency and all the news was in Turkish. I was determined to break down the language barrier to find out about Barış’ condition and how the accident had happened.

Interestingly I found out a little bit about the grammar of the language:

  • Vowel harmony present
  • No gender
  • Adjectives precede nouns
  • Verbs appear at the end of the sentence
  • Agglutination

The accident occurred when his car collided with a lorry at an intersection with no traffic lights. Since then authorities have installed traffic lights to make it safer.

I watched on YouTube the crowds of well wishes/fans who held candle-lit vigils outside the hospital and I was curious to know what it was about this man that had a whole country holding their breath for 5 long days.

Barış had reached national fame after winning the T.V series Akademi Turkiye [Turkish version of X-Factor/American Idol] in July 2007, and had sailed professionally in the Amasra Sailing Club. His musical influences were 80′s rock bands Dire Straits & Bon Jovi.

After winning Akademi Turkiye, he released two studio albums: Islak Islak & Düşmeden Bulutlara Koşmam Gerek.

He gave charity concerts for the benefit of children suffering from cancer at Bodrum Hospital.

In the week of his accident he was filming the last scenes of his popular T.V comedy series ‘Yalanci Yarim’ – Translated: “My Lying Lover

On his 27th birthday after performing a charity concert for children he was seriously injured in a car accident.

At the time of his death Baris Akarsu’s music video ‘Islak Islak’ was the fourth most viewed video across all of YouTube and has received over 232,936 comments.

 RIP
BARIS AKARSU
 29 JUNE 1979 – 4 JULY 2007

#amwriting – Experimental Excerpt (Rough Draft)

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I have been writing a story about an unlikely friendship, which ultimately leads to tragedy. I have been experimenting with different ways to present the story. This following extract is one of the many versions I have written. This version is inspired by The Book Thief – Markus Zusak, in which death narrates the story.

An Apple, Yet Not of My Eye

With menacing glee I am compelled to tell you about a friendship, of which I played both catalyst and dissipator. You see, it was I who bought these two unlikely individuals together and to my annoyance they enjoyed a pleasant camaraderie. They held a common bond that I had not anticipated. Therefore according to my natural tendency to cause disarray I shattered and scattered the two like fragmented glass.

Who am I, you might ask.

Well in terms of a physical being, I do not exist.

I am nothing but still something.

Yet always have been.

I am akin to energy.

Never created, never destroyed.

Just here.

Always have been here.

I can be powerful and wonderfully dangerous. It depends on how one contrives me within their mind.

I can also be made weak.

Very weak.

Some can easily discard me.

I find this an annoyance but to my greater virtue there are some that dwell on my presence. Hence manifesting me into a big hindrance in their lives. That’s when my endeavours are gloriously achieved.

That’s how it is.

That’s how I exist.

It’s thoroughly fascinating to observe how people misinterpret me for a variety of emotional states. I must place emphasis on the fact that I am never in company with happiness, joy or fulfilment.

We are immiscible, like water and oil.

So you can rightly assume where there is discontentment and dissatisfaction I will be present. I thrive heartily in this environment.

It’s not my fault.

That is just the way it is for me.

I realize I sound buoyant depicting my line of duty but I have earned the right to be.

I work hard, prospering on diminishing mortals.

I exist on a road in London where there are so many secrets amongst residents that I am king here.

An absolute master at my craft.

I have plenty of work to do on this particular cul-de-sac or as I like to call it ‘dead-end’ street. The people with the ability to attract disorder seem to reside here, almost conventional.

Near me.

Keeping me happily busy.

There was this one girl who could strongly feel my presence.

She knew I was real.

She felt me.

She fought me mentally.

Hard.

And I might add, constantly.

I admired her gumption. She had more backbone than grown men who would break down in tears. Then, I grew increasingly tired of her. And had to follow through with my given purpose …

Can you guess which emotional state narrates this story? I attempted to use BOREDOM

Please leave comments to let me if this narrative voice works, is it believable or any other tips or suggestions etc that may help me to improve the telling of this story. Thank you in advance.

The image taken from: http://vampires.wikia.com/wiki/Vampire_lovers

The Beautiful Blogger Award

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I am truly honoured to have been nominated the Beautiful Blogger Award by the lovely Jane Isaac. [Link to Jane's book on left].

I smiled a lot and told everyone even random people about MY award. Some were not aware of what a blog actually was [Yes, there are people who still don't know]. Anyhoo, I feel pleased as punch that I even got a look in. Really made my week! So once again thank you Jane!

I was not sure how to even start this post so for a bit of help I looked up the definition of BEAUTIFUL:

beau~t~ful | |ˈbyoōtəfəl|

adjective

pleasing the senses of the mind aesthetically

Wow!I am pleased the thoughts, images and experiences I share on this blog are to [some] readers liking. I am also hoping to purchase a super sexy camera in order to include more original pictures.

Anyway as per the rules I have to reveal 7 random thingy’s about myself :

1] Own 10 pairs of Converse All Stars

2] Intend to own a Children’s Bookshop

3] Learning Spanish

4] Love the smell of freshly cut grass

5] Watched episodes of Jersey Shore [ouch!]

6] Itching to do a post on Jon-Erik Hexum

7] Wished I was a Rock Chick

As per the rules I have to nominate 7 blogs for The Beautiful Blogger Award, they are  blogs that I truly enjoy returning to time and time again *Drum Roll*:

The Resurrected Writer - Jase Rosenberg

Cosy Travels of the Viking and his Kitten - The Viking & Sweet Kitten

Like A Bump On A Blog - Amber Meadows

Somebody Has To Say It - Ciara Ballintyne

Life As Amber Knows It - Amber Norgarrd

Eclipsing Winter - Beth Winter

RachelintheOC - Rachel Thompson

There are many other blogs which are beautiful too such as the classy Dionne Lister…I have to mention this talented and brilliant writer.

Special thanks to the following bloggers for their support and patience: Justin Bogdanovitch, Charity Parkerson, Marie Patchen, Diane Solberg, M.E Franco, Melissa Craig, Damien, Catharine Bramkampp, Toni Rakestraw

You would have thought I’d won an Oscar – Nah but it just feels great to be appreciated!

My Musical Muse – Emeli Sandé

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Whilst travelling on London Underground commuters are inundated with posters advertising EVERYTHING!
 
 
Normally my subconscience kicks in with: Don’t need that! Can’t afford that! Don’t wanna watch that! At the latest gadget, concert or film.
 
 
Then one poster caught my eye : Singer/Songwriter - Emeli Sandé
 
 
 
The first thing that struck me was her hair – Blonde with the sides cropped.
I thought Wow! She looks BOLD and she STANDS OUT. Out of the blue, I wished my writing were the same. Dejected, I remembered I hardly EVER write.
 
 
Well, anyway I still want to write ‘BOLD and STAND OUT’. So one thought lead to another and then,[better late then never], it hit me:
 
Maybe if I actually did write then I can develop my own writing style.
 
 
Feeling animated, I downloaded her album ‘Our Version of Events’ and just as expected: Brilliant!
I just love the lyrics and I believe she wrote them too. So inspiring! Emeli’s voice holds so much feeling and I appreciated the sounds of instruments actually being played.
 
 
There is one track called My Kind Of Love : When I heard it I immediately dedicated it to my writing. Yes, I personified my writing, acknowledged my shortcomings and pledged a new beginning. Listening to that song was like a session of ‘marriage/writing’ counselling.
 
I will try the following:
 
 
1] Make the time to practice everyday for at least an hour
2] Try not to be a perfectionist
3] Blog more regularily
4] Develop a writing style where I do not ‘write as I speak’ – So irritating!
5] Complete JuNoWriMo - 50,000 Word in 30 days
 
 
Maybe the above will make me develop a healthier relationship with my writing, I can only hope.
 
 
Lastly I just want to thank everyone who takes their precious time to read my blog or at least click the link. Also, a thank you to Emeli Sandé for unwittingly being my writing muse.
 
 
Anyway…
 
 
 

#Jamaica – Land We Love

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After my return from a nine day visit to Jamaica I feel rejuvenated and inspired. I had a   relaxing vacation where I managed to just stay in the ‘moment’. I took delight in the people [very laid back], food and music.

I spent the first three nights at the all inclusive resort – The Sunset Grande, which is located in Ocho Rios. It was a very nice experience. The staff are charismatic and professional. There is a variety of food catering for all – just in case you are not used to traditional Jamaican cuisine. As well as cool beverages served all day, YAY!

The resort holds activities all day run by lively entertainment staff.  At night there are local clubs and restaurants a few minutes away should you wish to venture out.

After being spoilt at the Sunset Grande I ventured out to Portmore, Kingston which was a more built up residential area. Whilst travelling to Kingston from Ocho Rios I was in awe of the alluring rich greenery against the back drop of a blue sky.

View from Harbour View Bridge, Kingston

Whilst en route I noticed many billboards encouraging safe driving. Even though vehicles would overtake up to four cars at a time. There are many health/social awareness billboards as well as Jamaica’s national treasure : Usain Bolt. His image is noticeably everywhere.

Towards the end of my trip I stayed in Yallahs, St Thomas and located East of Kingston. It is locally known for the roadside preparation of Jerk Chicken and Festival which are cooked in ‘Jerk Pans’.

I stayed at a friend of the family who had partially built his house. His house has a beautiful overview of Yallahs Bridge. Even though his house needed much work it felt like home. He has three dogs, a cat and a donkey named Strength who is smart yet unpredictable. He reminded me of the donkey on ‘Shrek’.

I throughly enjoyed my time in Jamaica. I have learnt and benefited from being immersed in a different environment. I observed the cultural differences with wonder and appreciate how people with a little less materially actually do have more. They always  express gratitude for what they ‘do’ have. Definitely a lesson I have learnt on this trip.

There is so much I wish I could share but maybe on my next trip.  For now I just wanted to share a few pictures of my trip with you!

Statue of woman in Ocho Rios

Just Let It Go…

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This week I was involved in an ugly incident, with an individual who had an ugly attitude!

Whilst driving out of the petrol station I was behind a white transit van. Then without warning the driver reversed and parked into a bay near the exit which is used to put air in tyres etc.

I reacted quickly and reversed also to avoid a collision – I even blamed myself for probably driving too close to the van.

I gestured an apology. I heard him shout something. So forgetting that degenerates live in this society I called out, ‘Pardon?’

The driver shouted out for all and sundry to hear: ‘Fu*k You!’

WOW & OUCH!

 I looked around the forecourt and everyone’s eyes were on me. They were waiting for me to respond. I could feel blood rushing to and swelling in my face, I think it’s called SHAME.

Even my two impressionable young sons in the back seat were like,’ So?’

Then a voice from the backseat suggested, ‘You should say YOU WISH YOU COULD!’ I was shocked! Between the van driver’s profanity and my son understanding the profanity I could not take much more!

I cleared my throat, put the car into 1st gear and drove out.

Yes…I said and did nothing! All those days of hollering/arguing in public were behind me. I am now dignified. That’s what I kept telling myself.

My baffled boys asked,’ Why hadn’t you given him what for?’

I replied,’ I JUST ROSE ABOVE IT!’

I smiled and through gritted teeth began to sing Michael Jackson’s Man In The Mirror. All the while trying to convince my damn self that I wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

I would never tell my sons but it ate me up that I had just let that little coward [sh*t] get away with that remark. He showed ignorance and lack of respect especially for himself. That’s what I kept telling myself.

What I wouldn’t give to relive that moment so I can punch that idiot square in the face. I ain’t that dignified. [South London accent]

I know I should let it go but it really pissed me off…

Yes I Know…

Just Let It Go…

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