I try to keep things at an even keel as much as possible. Lately I am on a teeter totter with my hands gripping my side of it, white knuckles bared against the barrage of bullshit that is getting piled on and off of the other side.
I have decided not to ride the wave that moves with the whims of incompetent and unintelligent people. I threw a written Molotov cocktail into the situation, bringing fire to what was already simmering. Fire can be good. Fire can be cleansing. I feel better already.
There was just one thing I didn't include in the world's longest email to the world's most oblivious person: You are most welcome. Maybe it was that I had rage fueled vision and wasn't feeling magnanimous. Maybe I just had too many other things to say and couldn't fit it in. Or I just couldn't slip the words over the furious lump in my chest.
Today, they move like liquid fire.
You are welcome for the years of my life I altered without looking back. You are welcome for the daily care of your precious cargo. You are so welcome for each breakfast made, dish washed, shirt folded, blanket tucked, lunch packed, carpool driven, girl scout meeting held, craft created, hair brushed, appointment made, bill paid and dollar stretched.
Because you never had to.
You are welcome for each rule set, each tantrum settled, each fight with a grandmother who didn't see the need for grounding. You are welcome for each sports uniform, school clothes, camp payment, sleeping bag, bug spray, whistle, and worried last look when she would walk away, even if only for a few hours.
Because you never wanted to.
You are welcome for sleepless nights, fitful dreams, fear of strangers, palpitation of the heart in a near-miss crash, glance to the backseat to see that she was still there, smiling, unaware. You are welcome for the embrace that held a crying child, scared, upset, unsure...when she didn't understand where you were. How to reach you. Why you wouldn't answer. You are welcome for the tears wiped, the ones she is careful to never show to you.
Because you had better things to do.
You are welcome for the vision I keep, the one of a 4 year old girl, playing with her dolls, acting out a comic book scene. Only in all of hers, there is a mother missing. One that will come and save the princess. Or that needs saving and the superhero always finds her to reunite with her little girl. You are welcome for the heart I broke watching that scene play out over and over.
You are welcome for the tears I held back when she asked if I would come play the game along with her. Of course I did, as I knew the script and I knew my part. I was always two people in the scene- the villain and the hero. I had to play those two so that her little voice could be both mother and daughter, one in peril and one desperate to help. I took the role of both the person who would do such a thing as take the mother away, and the one who would help to bring her back. She took the role of a little girl trying to come to terms with her life, and deciding that something dangerous and awful must be the only reason you couldn't be with her. I've always said how smart she is.
Because you were in a danger of your own making.
You are welcome for my cordial manner, my professionalism and my lack of emotion when in your presence. You are even more welcome for the fact that I have never spoken ill of you, I do not answer for your decisions, and I have covered for you this last nine years. You are welcome for the distraction we have provided from your antics, situations, lies and inconsistency. But the veil has fallen and my mouth has dropped open. Likely in awe of how stupid you must be and how stupid you must think I am. Uterine cancer? Just stop already.
Because you don't seem to know who you are dealing with.
You are welcome for my protection, my intelligence and power. You are welcome for my education, my ideals and my income. You are welcome for my health, my sense of self and my standards.
Because I will use them to protect what I love. And to keep you firmly in your place.