Soapbox Diner
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Saturday ... in the park. I think it was the Fourth of July. |
11.15.07 |
Tomorrow is Mr. T's sentencing. I contemplated losing 50 pounds overnight, buying some high-end fashion and drop-dead shoes, and sprucing (sp?) up with a new hair color and make-up. I considered polishing my nails and plucking my eyebrows, and throwing some rollers in my hair.
Why? Naturally the first reason that might come to mind would be some sort of "eat your heart out, loser" vindictive kind of thing. Or a "Do you see what you lost when you lost me, buddy?" kind of thing - or something. But the more I think about it, the more I believe just really, looking gorgeous is just girl-armor. Guys have shoulder pads and athletic supporter. Girls have shiny, bouncy tresses and perky boobs. Heh.
So the real question is, how exactly am I supposed to feel about tomorrow? Am I supposed to feel victorious? Relieved? Vindicated? Sad? Angry? Happy?
Hell, I don't know. What the hell is up with that? My life has completely and absolutely changed in the last nine months. I've purged my life of one overbearing prick. I've lost my lover and friend. I've watched my rapist go through the legal system. I've dealt with depositions and lawyers asking me probing and leading questions about my sexuality. I've nurtured my child back from witnessing all that shit. I've jumped through more goddamn hoops than the Harlem Globe Trotters trying to become a foster parent, dealt with the beginnings of the foreclosure process, put my house up for sale, gotten a promotion, taken on new responsibilities.
Et cetera ad infinitum.
So I don't know how I feel, or how I will feel tomorrow when I see him for the first time since March. Will his family be there? Will he turn around and stare at me? Try to talk with me? Will he have anything to say before the judge passes the sentence? What will he say?
Sigh. I just want Saturday.
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