Trophy Wife, Trophy Life

You can run, but you cannot hide.

The disguises we most often use to run away are the reflections of ourselves in another’s eyes.

Sometimes.

Othertimes.

It could be just getting away with the slow death murder of another individual.

To be fair.

It may not be entirely intention.

On our part.

Entirely intentional.

What keeps “it” going?

The horror, the endless nights of worry.

The lack of protection……..

What keeps it going?

From past experience or experiences, the blatant lack of accountability or accountabilities, the gross disregard, the will to make a buck at all costs.

Where there is a will there is a “way”.

People really oughta stay our of other people’s bedrooms.

Until then,

The Barbie and Ken dilemma, the “oh, I am not the crazy one, you are” endless round and rounds of WWE fights in futile attempts of insanity “defenses” will continue.

I dunno.

What I do know, or at least think I know, after 50-60 years on earth is,

It is anybody’s guess.

Good news: There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Bad news: Weathering the storms. We do not always display our best devices in this department.

To be successful in this crazy game of life one has, must know, at least, the name of the game. The rules, too.

Name of the game: Protection. Of all sacred persons, places and things.

Purpose of the game: The discovery of who has your back.

The method of the madness: At times, the 🌪️tornadoed madness that knocks you on your keester, ends you in the slammer, amuses a day and days of fears, tears and others’ jeers. The insanity that empties the bowels and the stomach at the same time.

The ultimate proof you were right in the first place.

The green vomit of exercising your right to be human.🤮

The day your eyes open and you face the moment you have been the star of your own horror show.

And no body came to see your blockbuster of a sh** show.

Nobody.

No tickets sold.

Seats empty.All the costumes, and designs and make up could not cover up. Cover it up over you. Cover up what really happened.

Out the door you go, second after second, minute after minute, day after day, night after nightmared night, out into the world that never really welcomed you.

It can feel like crap.

So.

What is a horror filled person to do? What does a horror filled person do?

Disregard.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

The problem exists within their soul. Go out and seek and search, search and seize the life of another.

Wreck, their life, assume their position and return to a life of hunky dorey hunks.

With a click and a smile.

A wink and a smile.

Not a care in the world.

Of who may get hurt.

Horror. Yes.

But Chucky taught us a thing or two ‘bout never looking over our shoulder……

Chucky could be a terror we never knew. The ankle biter of all ankle biters.

Find another, a better ‘nother, a prettier ‘nother, a funnier ‘nother.

The worst ‘nother is latching onto to another’s ’nother in a lazy attempt to get on with the show of intentions, motivations and game playing oneupmanship.

All.

At the expense of another.

In the pants of another.

In the pockets of another.

In the life of another.

Check yourself before you wreck yourself, we continually tell ourselves we should exercise restraint in the bed of another, the room of another, the life of another all while wreaking havoc.

We disguise our faults, failings, lies we tell ourselves—all while running from the truth of our own lies.

Horror show?

Or.

Real life?

The images we hope to portray and project become the fibs and foibles we trip over trying to get to where we think we want to be. Desiring only to run out of our own skin because the heat is much, too difficult to face. We dump it on another, another’s’ nother.

Face to face.

With our own face.

We scream.

At what we see down deep while trying to disguise the desperation with talk, talk, talk. At least a picture is, well,

”silent”.

Right?

That way, the whole darn thing is left to interpretation.

Let the explaining begin!!

The trophies be awarded.

To the best of the best.

The critical criticizing be heard loud and clear, from sea to shining sea.

While the rest of the peons muddle through with their ugliness, and messed up heads.

We flirt.

We gaze into the eyes of another’s’ nother all while their nother is standing right there—

It is all in the interest of kindness, right?

Yeah, right.

Can’t we all just get along?

Well, no.

No we cannot all get along.

We are sold a bill of goods about forgivess. The formula for forgiveness.

Who is willing to admit: Hey. What I really did was walk all over you, your life, you children’s lives, and

I do not care.

I am here.

You are there.

I do not care.

Trading you in for a younger, better model?

Hot.

Not hot?

Define “better”…….

Less crazy,

Bigger embellishments,

Fuller something.

”Smarter.”

Change simply for change is change.

Like many discovered during the buggy lock downs of recent years.

Phlegm is best when it is productive.

Once it settles.

Breathing stops.

All bets are off.

Before I come across all ghostlike and witch-like.

I do care. I put on a little lipstick before I enter the “real” world.

I exchange stories.

I read stories.

I draw conclusions.

I do not draw my conclusions on the blood of another’s’ nother.

Learned long ago, to play the cards I have been dealt.

Complain as little as possible.

Take it on the chin.

Falling on one’s face in the heat of the moment, the middle of the tornado teaches you the most important lessons in life. Sobers you up quickly, too.

Call it a lifelong lesson.

If you wake up standing.

Life is good.

May be ugly. But it is still good.

The troubles with looking good is, it takes a lot of effort, it takes a village, even.

No amount of exoneration covers it up.

The truth anyway. The ugly will eek its way through, one way or another. Even if and when attempts to steal it through another’s’ nother with batty eyes and empty gestures of waves and “helpful” are the sold bill of goods.

Most people are not dumb. It is when we are told we are less than that the gloves come off.

And. Now. You may be the one punched in the nose.

Hopefully. You may be left standing.