Cheshire Cat

I despise “that woman”;

The more I’m exposed to her, the more frivolous I think she is.

I suppose it goes back to that time earlier this summer when I blacked out in front of her and she claimed I was manipulating her. Or just the other day during one of her “meetings” when she subjugated us to one of her performances.

During that same meeting, she asked us all how we find spirituality in everyday life. What routines we do in sobriety to feel grounded and nurtured. I mentioned to her my morning routine of sipping black coffee and reading in silence for twenty minutes.

She dismissed it, waving it away as “not spiritual enough”, not like her idea of locking herself in a bathroom with a scented candle while sitting on the toilet. She thinks reading is boring, and has mentioned that to me in passing several times. I need reading or else I get grumpy or feel listless and empty.

I wouldn’t have minded her saying, “that’s a nice way to ground yourself, but this is mine [insert blank]…”

But for her to be so rudely dismissive and cruel about it was another thing entirely.

Once she brought her boyfriend over. A hick with a large tattoo of Florida inked over his chest and the Confederate flag on the other side. She’s still legally married but leads her husband on while bullying my roommate into submission and claiming she doesn’t like taking money from clients.

I bring this up because she’s likely coming over this afternoon to wrap K around her index finger so that K can put her own index finger down her own larynx and milk her for her money.

It gets tiresome watching this whole thing unfold and seeing the train wreck while it crashes steadily towards its station.

“That woman” likes to smile like the Cheshire Cat, flashing her whitened teeth while ironically speaking of cognitive dissonance.