Sitting at the table(or Nah).

Fiction starts~

I don’t have my phone or notepad close by to jot down the backlash that’s happening in front of me. All that’s at my disposal is my Macbook, everyone having since left the dining room and retired to their respective bedrooms. Now, I would normally follow behind, forcing the conversation to continue,  I’ll instead give myself a pass on that spasmodic reaction and instead respond via an email.

The girl said “Why should I bother? He’ll just do it again. You guys aren’t even married, so there’s no promise he’ll fix himself. All I have is mom–she isn’t going anywhere!”

In these statements I don’t assume any personal fault, but a slight chip on my shoulder. One, I need to let slide right off as I turn and go elsewhere. Still, before I do so. I need to make it clear that each of these remarks will not go…uncorrected.


First off, I react to what is done to ME. What you hear, how you hear it, demonstrative and loud, is nothing more than a riot inside my chest that is tired of being forced down. I see so much wrongedness(sp), acts, privileges given, those I would otherwise not permit without further maturity. I’m not red velvet cake. I don’t do what others do or set my clock to the times of others. So, what I’ll “do again” is a matter of whether or not I move pass  what act, action; mood or attire is frustrating me at that moment, the degree of disrespectful comments leveled at me or ultimately find the resolve to exhale, and realize the harm is done and leave altogether.

But, am I a bad person for having a pulse?

Life isn’t guaranteed to be long. Why should I continue to watch the wick burn or the sand fill the lower curve of the hourglass? Why waste any more years on something–now damaged, and unrepairable–when I can take who I am, and look elsewhere. So many horizons.

You’re right, we’re not married. There isn’t an emotional or physical contract tenured to keep either of us at this table–hell, we don’t even have a child. So, the degree to which this nuclear/blended family will sustain itself is based solely on the promise of STARTING a family refreshed. We can salvage what we have at this dinner table, and promise to all work toward fixing it. But, as you so kindly reminded me, I have no real allegiance to anyone at this house. I am a segment; the near corner piece of the puzzle, that when removed, does not affect the portrait in it’s entirety.

When I am subtracted, your family will still exist. The sun will still rise. You will still ask for a ride to the mall. You will still be loved by your circle.

Do I feel wrong for having these thoughts? Yes, I do. I don’t want to be pegged as sour, but I can’t be tightlipped at the moment. I won’t apologize. Honesty is all that’s left, after having been shown my face this evening. I don’t make ultimatums or threats. I don’t make “One day you’re gonna regret…” or “You’ll see. One day I’ll leave..” No. I’m not 20. I don’t play connect four with my time. You called my bluff, now I’m cashing in. When I do leave, you’ll know. You’ll feel the void. But do NOT feel that it’s your fault. It is not. It is time’s fault. We both wasted it.

Fiction ends~


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