Some Part Of Me Has Died

I'm in another time-out from the world. Things are really ugly out there and I figure if I bury my face under the pillow for long enough the rest of the world will eventually fade away. Especially the ugly bits, the bits I don't want to see, hear, feel, touch, taste, smell.

When I was in the throes of illness, I felt someone kicking me in the solar plexus over and over again. I felt my insides contract and I couldn't breathe. And I gave up fighting the feeling.

It coursed through me.

It kept coursing.

I let it course.

Spent, I lay on the unwelcoming pillow and allowed my thoughts to erase themselves. Someone had taken a blowtorch to all those memories. I felt each one die under the blaze, the concentrated fury. Of what, I don't know.

I was at Shalom on Friday. I saw Carl. I have hated Carl for more than a decade. I avoided him like the plague. Slipped out of the reach of his hands.

He bit a friend. She stepped in between when he was coming for me. After that I stopped talking to him. Taking his calls:

Jennifer doesn't work here anymore. Please don't call this number.

And Friday, I just chatted with him, like the intervening 15 years hadn't happened. We talked about the bite. Or rather we mentioned it in passing. He told me what had happened with him. I told him I was freelancing. And it was all so... devoid of drama.

I felt nothing. No animosity. No hatred. No judgement. No... get away from me, you bastard!

And I wondered, has there really been a shift? Are all those grudges finally petering out? Will I really live in the moment?

Some part of me is letting go.

Some part of me is dying.

Some part of me has died.