One of the "mean girls" -- moi?

I'm having a wee bit of an identity crisis, so bear with me.

Am I one of the "mean girls"?

Over the past few days, I've been overcome with waves of fury.

Their target? The girlfriend I referenced yesterday.

The cause? The way that, not clever enough to hide her tracks, she's given me a window into her world.  Not that I didn't have a few before .   

But it's not about her. It's never really been about her.  And if she was more astute, she'd realize that, fundamentally, it's not about me, either.

If there's no threat, life is rosy. No worries.  

If there is a threat, it's from within.  

Not that I'm saying there is one.  I am constantly humbled by what I don't know about our nature as humans

Frankly, I can't imagine the world she inhabits.  

We are as alike as chalk and cheese.

But I don't really want to imagine it, either.  I don't want to sink to her level.

Yet that's just where I fear I go, at least in imagination.

I write my son's baseball coach about game times and schedules, and fantasize about....oh, don't worry, nothing violent.

That is to say, nothing that involves pugilism or gore.

Perhaps a bit of scheming, a tince of plotting, a few well-place verbal stabs.

That's enough to frighten me, to make me wonder if I'm shrinking, my spirit becoming smaller, my boundaries more confined.

The anger will evaporate, eventually.  I am incapable of being wrathful for long.  Besides, it serves no good.

And good is, hopefully, my aim.

So if you hear any "mean girl" remarks, feel free to remind me -- ultimately, it doesn't matter who she is or what she does, short of murder or poisonings.

It does matter who I am -- and what I lose, if I allow myself to drink from the poisoned chalice.

I will put it down, and walk on.

I am bigger than this -- I hope.