Tag Archives: Toxic

If I Were a Postal Employee

14 Sep

I don’t think he’d be smiling if he knew what he was picking up!?!

If I were a postal employee I would be outraged by this.

If they only knew.

Or do they know?

Have we really gotten this busy?

As a full-time working mom I for one appreciate the convenience. I doubt that the post office does.

Why, you ask? What are they delivering?

They are delivering my shit.

I’m not even joking.

I recently had a physical. I’ve been having some tummy troubles, and I haven’t quite been able to figure out what to attribute it to.

- I’ve tried eliminating dairy (didn’t work)
- I quit drinking pop three months ago
- My doctor thinks it might be anxiety-related
- My stepmom thinks I eat too many raisins
- My friend thinks I’m allergic to gluten
- I actually think I might drink too much coffee

So what gives? Why do I suddenly have diarrhea on an almost daily basis? My doctor wanted to get to the bottom of it. He asked me to give a poo sample. You can imagine how comfortable I was discussing my diarrhea issues with my 60+ male physician. Well, I guess it wasn’t that bad in all honestly, I mean, I’m telling you all right?

He says that he wants me to submit a poo sample, and that I can even mail it in. (Selling point?)

What the heck?

I nodded my head as he shook my hand and said the nurse would be back with prescriptions, my blood test order and the poo pack.

Sure enough the nurse comes into the office and hands me a small cardboard box.

“You can mail this with five stamps,” She tells me. “Or you can drop it off here.”

Drop it off here? Does she think I have nothing better to do but complete my 8 ½ hour shift at work, pick up my kid, go home and make dinner, do laundry, get us all ready for the next day, i.e., pack bags, lunch, pick out outfits, etc. and that I can just make a leisurely stop at the doctor’s office (completely out of my way) to deliver my sample?

I do appreciate this convenience. I love this convenience. Five stamps, 10 stamps, I don’t care! Whatever it takes to not have to drive back to the doctor’s office.

But then I found myself having all sorts of questions, overanalyzing if you will….do the mail people know that they are picking up people’s poop? Will I tell my mail lady at work – who I talk to everyday – that she is picking up my poop?

“Well, hello there, Cindy….please be sure to be extra careful with that cardboard box. It has my shit in it. And by the way, thank you sooooo much. You’re sure making my life a lot easier by delivering my poop to my doc!”

A. W. K. W. A. R. D.

But, I actually worried that I might say that.

Luckily the day I mailed my poop she had a sub. Phew, I wasn’t going to tell the tatted dude who came in that he was picking up my crap. I simply smiled and said hello. But in my head I was all….omg, omg, that poor man has no idea that he is picking up my poo! And then I giggled.

Soooo immature.

If I don’t worry about the postal employees then am I all good here?

Because I think I actually may have scarred my 2-year-old while taking on this task. On a Saturday afternoon after drinking a large Dunkin Donuts iced coffee I was all – OK time to do this.

Git r done….I’m hearing that hillbilly guy’s voice. I despise this saying btw.

I grabbed the cardboard box and opened it to read the instructions.

Seems easy enough.

It’s not.

My first turd completely rolled off the piece of paper and plopped in the toilet. I started screaming. My husband ran into the bathroom carrying the Chiquita. “What is going on?”

The Chiquita is eyeing the piece of paper like wtf. She’s no dummy. She knows her mom’s a bit of a whack job.

“I can’t go #2 on a piece of paper. This is insane!”

“Well, you have to! Suck it up!”

Then does he leave? No! He stands there. Holding the Chiquita. While I attempt again to go to the bathroom on a piece of paper. This is messed up.

The Chiquita is seriously like wtf. (Poor kid)

OK, deed is done!

Now to “pierce” it. Yes, that’s what you have to do. This is why I’m not in the medical field, because are you serious right now? This is MINE and I’m completely grossed out. I can’t even imagine if it were someone else’s.

I’m standing there (naked) trying to pierce the poop sample, and I start gagging. Like major gagging. Like dry-heaving I’m going to throw up in a second gagging. I’m screaming, “I’m going to throw up!!!!!!!!!! I can’t do this!”

Husband is laughing.

The Chiquita is screaming, “Poop! Poop! Poop, Mommy, poop! Poop! Paper! Mommy, Poop, Paper.”

For two days following this “event” when the Chiquita would walk by the bathroom she would say: “Poop! Mommy Poop, Paper.”

So, I ask you this. Are we really too busy to give poop samples like we used to?

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I Owe It All To Poop

7 Sep

I recently signed up for LinkedIn at the insistence of my writing coach. I feel so professional saying that…my writing coach. I’ve gotten very serious about selling my manuscript, Concrete Boots. Read the excerpt here. Writing Coach thought LinkedIn would give me more exposure. I figured what do I have to lose?

Within two weeks of being on LinkedIn I was contacted by a reporter for Businessweek in New York. I know, omg, right?! She said she wanted to interview me for a bathroom story because she had read my post Let’s Talk Bathroom Etiquette and thought it was “hilarious”.

I immediately responded grateful for the opportunity. My brain started spinning out of control…omg, this is IT. This is my break. People are going to read my writing and think it’s great, and I am going to be the next J.K. Rowling. I will be BFF with Giuliana Rancic. My book will be turned into a great movie, like The Devil Wears Prada. I will be invited to the Oscars when Katie Holmes wins Best Actress for playing ME in Concrete Boots. (PS. Once before I mentioned Jennifer Love Hewitt, but now I’m thinking Katie Holmes…totally).

Umm..yeah I totally look like Kate

O-M-G. So exciting.

Then…

The balloon deflates. The air slowly whistles out……..

I’ll let the conversation speak for itself:

—–Original Message—–
From: Venessa Wong (BLOOMBERG/ 731 LEXIN)
Sent: Tuesday, September 04, 2012 2:21 PM
To: jlee5879@live.com
Subject: Urgent Businessweek inquiry, One of your blog posts

Hi JLee,
I am a reporter for Businessweek in New York. I saw one of your blog posts
and was wondering if this was yours:
http://jleesblog.com/2012/04/05/lets-talk-bathroom-etiquette-repepepepepeat/
It’s hilarious and I am looking for funny stories about bathroom etiquette
in the office for an article. Let me know if this is something I can
interview you about!

Sincerely,
Venessa

—

I’m going to be interviewed!!! Ohmigosh, who will style me for the Oscars? Stella McCartney?

This is gorge! Guipure Lace Celia Dress $5,145

We trade some emails back and forth and here is what I send:

—– Original Message —–
From: jlee5879@live.com
To: VENESSA WONG (BLOOMBERG/ 731 LEXIN)
At: Sep 4 2012 16:52:01

Here is a bathroom story. I hope this works:

I’m shocked that in this day and age there are people who actually don’t wash their hands openly in front of other people like it’s normal. Now I see why my bonus daughters refuse to touch the bathroom door. I always think they are being a little dramatic. But, much to my surprise I recently heard someone in my office building (cue dramatics) not wash their hands!

How it went down was I was ‘The Pooper‘ so I was settled in catching up on Twitter (follow me @jlee5879blogger) as I often do when I’m attending to my business and ‘The Tortoise and the Hare’ dashes into the bathroom stall for their marathon pee. We’re talking running into the stall and slamming the door shut.

Side note, this is a HUGE pet peeve for me. Do you really need to slam the door shut so that the entire bathroom barricade shakes for us all? The screws are half sticking out after all. One day it is going to fall apart, and if you catch me with my pants down I can tell you our future interactions will be very awkward.

But, back to ‘The Tortoise and the Hare‘ – the marathon pee session consists of a few dribbles followed by a flush (the ‘Flush n Run’); did you even wipe because I’m quite certain that you did not since I didn’t hear our ginormous
commercial toilet paper roll creaking as you grab for TP? And then the run.

O.M.G. As God is my witness here I sit updating Twitter and a ‘Flush n Runner’ has actually left the bathroom without washing their hands. This is unbelievable. I sit there in a complete state of shock. What do I do about this? Do I tweet this? Do I make a sign to hang up in the bathroom? Who could this have been? I’ve got to get to the bottom of this! We the People deserve to know!

As I finish my own business and wash my hands I scrub them extra hard, like that is somehow going to make up for the Mad-dashers lack of bathroom etiquette. I think to myself that I absolutely cannot believe that a grown
woman would not wash her hands after going to the bathroom. That is beyond disgusting. I don’t even like having to use hand sanitizer in a porter potty, and now, here, right in front of you, you have soap. You have water. You have paper towels. This isn’t the dark ages! What is going on?

I’m simply baffled and asking God to give me a response here. Please, explain it to me so I can understand this alternate universe. As I dried my hands and tossed the towel into the trash I remembered I needed a buffer to open the bathroom door with. Obvs the ‘Flush n Runners’ pee-infested hand is all over the bathroom door handle, and I can just imagine the tiny little bugs crawling on the door with hopes of grasping onto my sweet smelling skin with desperation. Even they don’t want to be on that dirty handle.

I grab a new paper towel to open the door with. As I open the door I’m face-to-face with a fellow office worker from down the hall.

Startled, I collect my thoughts and say hello.

“Hi!” She responds, “I left my key in the bathroom!”

O.M.G. And I’m standing face-to-face with the non-hand-washer. Here is your answer God tells me. And to this day every single time I see or speak to her I remember that she doesn’t wash her hands in the ladies room. And then I
throw up in my mouth.

—

Some other emails go back and forth…did I tweet about the incident? No. Do I talk on the phone in the bathroom? No. I only Tweet in the bathroom!

I patiently wait for the finished piece that is going to change my life…make me the next big thing. :)

—

—–Original Message—–

From: Venessa Wong (BLOOMBERG/ 731 LEXIN)
Sent: Wednesday, September 05, 2012 2:18 PM
To: jenniferbodoh@live.com

Subject: Re: Urgent Businessweek inquiry, One of your blog posts

Hi Jennifer. Here’s a link. Thanks again for sharing your story! It was hilarious.

http://www.businessweek.com/articles/2012-09-05/trend-watch-fewer-co-workers-are-washing-their-hands#r=hp-ls

THIS IS IT!

Check out the article.

—

Disappointed?

Did I oversell?

I suppose I did. I oversold it to myself…this gold Stella McCartney bag with my dress at the Oscars. Maybe Prince Harry as my date? (PS. I’m currently obsessed with Prince Harry. It was the nude pics, I’ll admit it).

Pembridge Gold Braided Faux Vacchetta Clutch $830

BUT, here are my thoughts. She found ME. She read my post. She sought me out for an interview. These are all great things. Its baby steps, my friends, baby steps. I just wish I was taking my baby steps in these fab shoes!

Jimmy Choo Balfour Ankle Boot $1,295

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Jlee’s Review – Intoxicology 101s Sangria

1 Aug

Alex at Intoxicology 101 did a wonderful guest blog for us on July 23rd which included two Sangria recipes. See it here if you missed it: sAnGrIa ~ A Party Favorite.

Here is an excerpt from the post: Because Alex knows I’m a wino he provided us with two Sangria recipes! I made an awesome Sangria yesterday for the Chiquita’s 2nd birthday, I will share the recipe and pics in another post, but I am anxious to try Alex’s recipe for a pool party I am having this weekend. I will provide my review of the recipe next week.

As promised here is my review of Intoxicology 101s Sangria.

Toxic.

Toxic as in I woke up naked at 8:30 pm wondering what the hell happened. Toxic as in I was banging on my bathroom door desperately trying to break it down as I knew I was going to be sick. Toxic as in four days later my stomach still isn’t quite right.

The only good thing is that out of four women two of us ended up puking. So, I ask you. What could take down two grown women at a pool party?

Alex’s Sangria. Damn him. It’s because he’s a Sux, I mean, Sox fan. Or because it was just that darn good.

I made Alex’s Spiked White Peach Sangria. Here is the recipe again:

  • 1 750 ML bottle Dry to Semi-dry White (I Use Pinot Grigio)
  • 3/4 cup Vodka (Or try Peach Vodka)
  • 6 Tbs frozen lemonade concentrate
  • 1 LB peaches, pitted and sliced
  • 3/4 cup Red grapes, halved (Seedless)
  • 3/4 cup Green grapes, halved (Seedless)
  • 1/4 cup Sugar

In a large pitcher, combine your wine, vodka, lemonade concentrate and sugar. Stir until the sugar dissolves. Go ahead and add in your fruits next. Refrigerate until chilled and allow the fruit flavors to blend in.

Now first off, I chose to make this Sangria not for the Vodka, but because it is a white-wine Sangria and that is what I had a taste for Saturday morning. But, secondly, vodka is a nice added touch.

I took the recipe to Dominick’s the night before yet I still managed to forget the frozen lemonade concentrate. Does anyone else do this? Wtf?! I had the recipe right in my hand!

Anyways, so I made his recipe exactly as it called for except in place of the frozen lemonade concentrate I used ginger ale. Alex says this recipe serves 6-10 depending on your crowd. I don’t know who Alex’s friends are, but I doubled the recipe for 4 gals. Maybe that was my problem?

Friends arrived and we had a nice display of food plus our yummy Sangria. We took some pics and celebrated another friend’s birthday (the other puker – lol) and all was starting out well. I’m not sure how quickly we finished off the Sangria, but let me tell you, it tasted soo good. My husband dubbed it: The Sweet Nectar of the Gods.

The Sweet Nectar of the Gods

It didn’t even taste like alcohol and we were cheers-ing away, laughing and telling stories and the ladies asked me to make a second – YES, a second! – batch. FYI, we finished the second batch. Holy shit, are we alcoholics or what?!?

I’m not sure where it all went downhill from here. Well, I mean, I guess I am. I brought the second batch of Sangria out. We cheers-ed some more. We took some more pictures. We talked about going to Mexico in January.

Making sure the Sangria didn’t drown.

Four hours later I woke up. Naked. With a bucket of puke next to me.

O. M. G.

What the shit?!?

I’m a 33-year-old mother! This should not be happening. This is so embarrassing! This is so immature. What would my mother say? Didn’t I learn from the Sangria and the water balloon incident? O.M.G. My counselor is going to have a field day with this!?!

I walk downstairs and Hubs says to me, “Well, you weren’t the only one that got it.”

I just stared at him. I’m not even sure I could speak.

What happened?

“It must have been that vodka in the Sangria. Jen, you like poisoned your friends. Coco threw up all over the kitchen sink and then passed out on the couch for three hours. The other two managed to survive it, both thanking their lucky stars. Could you imagine me having 4 women throwing up and passed out in the house?”

My husband laughed. Yes, my husband is a saint.

So, my review of Alex’s Sangria is such: FAS (Fucking Awesome Shit).

However, not recommended for pool parties or light weights. If you are going to drink this Sangria please don’t drink on an empty stomach or you will end up with projectile vomiting like Coco or waking up naked with a puke bucket like me!

Here is my friend’s review of the Spiked White Peach Sangria: (and note, she did not puke, but she is also not a huge Sangria fan): “Though some may call it toxic, if you’re a wine and vodka drinker this could be your new BFF!”

And as promised, here is the recipe for Jlee’s Sangria. (I’m calling it Jlee’s Sangria because this is my blog, however, to be truthful; this is not actually my recipe, but my friend’s, who shared it with me. Proper disclosures are always appreciated.)

Jlee’s Sangria

Jlee’s Sangria

  • 1 box of Franzia white wine
  • 1 2-liter of Sierra Mist
  • Lots of sliced fruit of your choice, but good with strawberries, peaches, lemons and limes

Prepare the night before in a large gallon serving dispenser (I bought mine at Sam’s Club). Combine your wine and Sierra Mist. Stir. Go ahead and add in your fruits next. Refrigerate and enjoy manana!

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Repepepepepeat….I Want a Divorce [Drama]

19 Jun

I wrote I Want a Divorce [Drama] in October 2010. It is one of my favorite posts because I think it represents how vulnerable I was at the time. The Post Partum Depression I suffered from was suffocating me. I knew I was going crazy, but I didn’t have a clue how sick I really was. I was on a speeding train ready to crash and burn. Unfortunately it would be another four months on this [crazy] train before I would finally get the help I needed.

I know this post was very difficult for many of my friends to read. It caused them to be fearful and worried for my well-being, but now that I am in a healthy place, please give it another read and see if you feel differently about it now. I’ve entered this piece in a couple of contests hoping for publication, but without any luck yet. Maybe it’s not as good as I think? But, it’s mine, and I will always cherish this post. I hope you enjoy it as well.

—

Photo courtesy of http://www.fanpop.com

You’re not healthy for me, and you know it.  I try to push you away.  You repeatedly creep back in and say you’re here to stay.

Like the mold in my shower I keep scrubbing away.  Scrubbing you out of my tomorrow and today.  The harder I scrub, the harder it is to resist you.  I can’t get cleansed of you and the more wrinkled and bloody my hands become.  The toxic products destroy my skin, but also my lungs,  as I breathe you in.

I know you’re harmful to me, you’re toxic, but like you’re my drug addiction I can’t stop you.  I can’t fight it.  You are always there.  You enter my body and poison my veins.  Like a river you flow through me, and now I don’t care.  You tingle through my arms, my legs and my feet…I can taste you on my lips and boy do you taste sweet.

You reach my heart and slowly squeeze it.  I’m suffocating; I need air.  I look in the mirror and see the damage you have done, though I’m still here.  My heart is broken and weak, do you see me suffering?  My eyes are empty and pleading; but you will slowly kill me.

“God help me!”  I cry out.  I plead with him, please!  I will do anything, God, just make me free.  He listens, but not for long….because you slither back in.  You follow me throughout my day and into the eve.  You’re the nightmare I can’t break free from; you’re with me every night.  I wake up in a cold sweat, thinking of you and pining for you, but dreading the light.

You don’t know how not to wound me.  And you don’t care when you do.  You take over my mind and my body and bounce me like a yo-yo.  You watch me whither away until I resign my soul to you.  I am a robot wandering aimlessly about and you have the remote control.

You exhaust me and frustrate me and anger me, too.  Can’t you see that I’m tired and sick without you?  I’m just exhausted of the lies and pain that you’ve caused.   I can’t take this anymore.  I want a divorce from you.  I want to be away from you and never see your face again.  I want to – I need to – break free of these powers you have over me.

But I don’t seem to know how.  I can’t get away from you!  No matter how hard I try to leave you, you come find me and fight.  You carry me back in, and without you I might die.  No matter how much wine I drink to numb me, I still wake up cold, and empty, and alone.  Sober I am your puppet and you run the show.  My puppet master, you will operate me while I fight for my life.  When I’m drunk I don’t fear you, but crave your bite.

Stop!  Just stop the madness, with you I plead!  But you don’t and you won’t, why don’t you see?  Like a vampire you bite me and suck more blood from me.  You let me lay close to death, and then you breathe air into my lungs.  Just then, my eyes open, and I see you standing there.  I look you in the face, and I don’t feel angry, my memory erased.  I’m happy to see you.  You make me feel alive and well again.  I can breathe!  Oh how I’ve missed you.  Oh how I need you by my side.

And then you suck the air from my lungs again, leaving me drained and helpless with only my jumbled thoughts and fears.  I break into tears and you lick my face clean.  The tears keep flowing from my eyes and you watch me weep.  I’m drowning in a river of sorrow and pain.  Help me please!  You throw me a rope, and you rescue me.

There I lay begging you to wrap your warm arms around me.  You smile at me like the Cheshire Cat and disappear into thin air.  I’m alone and crying.  Where did you go?  Why did you leave me again?  Come back for me.  Please.

Then you reappear with a soft voice telling me to follow you here…follow you through the woods and out of this nightmare.  We can wake up in Wonderland, together you and me.  But, your voice is getting fainter and again you leave me.  I can’t hear you anymore!  Wait up.  Wait for me!  And you’re gone again, forcing me to finally see.

I twirl around in circles; my arms stretched out wide.  I’m spinning and spinning, you’re no longer by my side.  I’m dizzy and falling, and the rain pours down.  My long black hair rinses clean, and I am back to me; back to blonde. I’m free of you.  I’m free! I’m looking in the mirror again – at me, at me smiling, and blonde, and tan and pretty.  And you startle me.  There I see you just behind me.  You smile at me, reminding me you will always be just behind the curtain, you will wait to reappear and throw me off-balance from my life.  Reminding me you will come back for me; this will never be done,  no matter how far I run and hide, no matter what color my hair, no matter drunk or sober, you will still be there.  You whisk me up and will sweep me away, against all my efforts to be still, to stay.

I follow you down the dark damp hole.  I hear drip…drip….and I’m looking everywhere, where did you go?  You tell me left, I look right, you tell me right, I look left.  I’m so confused, let’s end this right.  I want a divorce, drama, that’s what I need. Please, drama, grant me the divorce I need.  I beg of you let me break free, give me this opportunity.  But you don’t.  You won’t.  You never will.

You breathe me in and suffocate me.  I gasp for air.  You take away my fears and then disappear.  You leave me scared and alone, down deep in the hole.  I try to crawl out towards the light.  Just a few more steps to go, I can no longer fight, drama.

Free me of these silly games, I don’t deserve to suffer this way.  Thank you fear and violence, and disillusionment and hope; thank you sadness and laughter, and anguish and faith.  Thank you drama, can you hear?  For without you I have no confidence to stay…. I want a divorce….drama, please, just allow me to be.  Drama…please let me go….I am broken and alone.

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I Want a Divorce [Drama]

7 Oct

 

Photo courtesy of http://www.fanpop.com

You’re not healthy for me, and you know it.  I try to push you away.  You repeatedly creep back in and say you’re here to stay. 

Like the mold in my shower I keep scrubbing away.  Scrubbing you out of my tomorrow and today.  The harder I scrub, the harder it is to resist you.  I can’t get cleansed of you and the more wrinkled and bloody my hands become.  The toxic products destroy my skin, but also my lungs,  as I breathe you in.

I know you’re harmful to me, you’re toxic, but like you’re my drug addiction I can’t stop you.  I can’t fight it.  You are always there.  You enter my body and poison my veins.  Like a river you flow through me, and now I don’t care.  You tingle through my arms, my legs and my feet…I can taste you on my lips and boy do you taste sweet.

You reach my heart and slowly squeeze it.  I’m suffocating; I need air.  I look in the mirror and see the damage you have done, though I’m still here.  My heart is broken and weak, do you see me suffering?  My eyes are empty and pleading; but you will slowly kill me.

“God help me!”  I cry out.  I plead with him, please!  I will do anything, God, just make me free.  He listens, but not for long….because you slither back in.  You follow me throughout my day and into the eve.  You’re the nightmare I can’t break free from; you’re with me every night.  I wake up in a cold sweat, thinking of you and pining for you, but dreading the light.

You don’t know how not to wound me.  And you don’t care when you do.  You take over my mind and my body and bounce me like a yo-yo.  You watch me whither away until I resign my soul to you.  I am a robot wandering aimlessly about and you have the remote control.

You exhaust me and frustrate me and anger me, too.  Can’t you see that I’m tired and sick without you?  I’m just exhausted of the lies and pain that you’ve caused.   I can’t take this anymore.  I want a divorce from you.  I want to be away from you and never see your face again.  I want to – need to – break free of your powers I’ve been trapped in. 

But I don’t seem to know how.  I can’t get away from you!  No matter how hard I try to leave you, you come find me and fight.  You carry me back in, and without you I might die.  No matter how much wine I drink to numb me, I still wake up cold, alone and empty.  Sober I am your puppet and you run the show.  My puppet master, you will operate me while I fight for my life.  When I’m drunk I don’t  fear you, but crave your bite.

Stop!  Just stop the madness, I plead!  But you don’t and you won’t, why don’t you see?  Like a vampire you bite me and suck more blood from me.  You let me lay close to death, and then you breathe air in my lungs.  Just then, my eyes open, and I see you standing there.  I look you in the face and don’t feel withdrawn or angry, my memory erased.  I’m happy to see you.  You make me feel alive and well again.  I can breathe!  Oh how I’ve missed you.  Oh how I need you by my side.

And then you suck the air from my lungs again, leaving me drained and helpless with only my jumbled thoughts and fear.  I break into tears and you lick my face clean.  The tears keep flowing from my eyes and you watch me weep .  I’m drowning in a river of sorror and pain.  Help me please!  You throw me a rope, and you rescue me. 

There I lay begging you to wrap your warm arms around me.  You smile at me like the Cheshire cat and disappear into thin air.  I’m alone and crying.  Where did you go?  Why did you leave me again?  Come back for me.  Please.

Then you reappear with a soft voice telling me to follow you here…follow you through the woods and out of this nightmare.  We can wake up in Wonderland, together you and me.  But, your voice is getting fainter and again you leave me.  I can’t hear you anymore!  Wait up.  Wait for me!  And you’re gone again, forcing me to finally see.

I twirl around in circles; my arms stretched out wide.  I’m spinning and spinning, you’re no longer by my side.  I’m dizzy and falling, and the rain pours down.  My long black hair rinses clean, and I am back to me, back to blonde and free of you.  I’m looking in the mirror again – at me, at me smiling, and blonde, and tan and pretty.  And you startle me.  There I see you just behind me.  You smile at me, reminding me you will always be just behind the curtain, you will wait to reappear and throw me off balance from my life.  Reminding me you will come back for me; this will never be done,  no matter how far I run and hide, no matter what color my hair, no matter drunk or sober, you will still be there.  You whisk me up and will sweep me away, against all my efforts to be still, to stay. 

I follow you down the dark damp hole.  I hear drip…drip….and I’m looking everywhere, where did you go?  You tell me left, I look right, you tell me right, I look left.  I’m so confused, let’s end this right.  I want a divorce, drama, that’s what I need. Please, drama, grant me the divorce I need.  I beg of you let me break free, give me this opportunity.  But you don’t.  You won’t.  You never will. 

You breathe me in and suffocate me.  I gasp for air.  You take away my fears and then disappear.  You leave me scared and alone, down deep in the hole.  I try to crawl out towards the light.  Just a few more steps to go, I can no longer fight, drama. 

Free me of these silly games, I don’t deserve to suffer this way.  Thank you fear and violence, and disillusionment and hope; thank you sadness and laughter, and anguish and faith.  Thank you drama, can you hear?  For without you I have no confidence to stay…. I want a divorce….drama, please, just allow me to be.  Drama…please let me go….I am broken and alone.

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