I got another hateful text just before bedtime last night. I can’t fathom what goes through this person’s soul and heart to regard me with such disgust.
At first I would reply back with a volley of hate that outgunned whatever I had received. I worked on a trading floor. I was trained to deliver a destructive saying quickly and efficiently.
Before Don Shepley died I promised him I’d be a better ex husband. Last year John Wagner insisted that I forgive and work harder at being the stronger person.
I’ve been a man of my word.
The one thing I’ve decided is to reply in Shakespearean. I will bring out my inner Keats and Percy Bysshe and occasional Twain in response.
Last night when I turned off the light I looked out the window. I saw the bright moon that just came off the weekend being full. I thought about people that I love looking at the same moon somewhere else. People who aren’t with me, but can see the same thing I’m looking at right now and that made me happy.
The person who hates me doesn’t have the same eye. She can’t look out and see the glory in the moon.
That’s sad.
If you don’t possess goodness you can’t see the beauty around you. Hate keeps the blinds shut and consumes your heart.
So the next time I receive the spew of hate I will not reply and intensify her pain.
I will be like Billy Shakes….
“Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
But for the record, matter lives dumbass… I mean Dumbass lives matter.
(This blog is a therapeutic tool for a divorced dad who worked on a trading floor. Not all posts will be shits and giggles. Sometimes you need to approach the painful parts in daily life.)
