You know, I believe in peace and love, be the change you want to see in the world, what goes around comes back around times three, if someone bothers you, just wish them good luck so that they’ll be too distracted by it to bother you, I’m learning to meditate, I have an impressive collection of gemstone Buddhas, you get the idea.
There are times, however, when all that goes by the wayside and what I want to really do would get me three hots and a cot for years if not the rest of my natural life.
These times are generally tied to someone deciding they need to fuck up my life.
Case in point: Old man neighbor. I leave him alone. However, he tries to block the path when I’m returning from walking my cousin’s dogs (the Assistant and the Intern). Cousin does not want him messing with the dogs, I don’t want to waste time because I generally must get back to work and don’t have time to indulge him. He will try to distract them while I have them out doing their business by whistling. The Intern must have a form of doggy ADD because it’s hard to keep her focused on peeing and pooping unless she really has to go. She is his target because she is extremely cute. “Oh, the little perro.” And he will block the sidewalk when I try to return. I have taken to cutting across the grass. He has “chased” me to the door because I evaded him. He doesn’t like that. I almost threw a bag of poop at him. That I had picked up (the Intern’s).
Now he’s told the management company that I don’t pick up poop. It’s a lie. Just because I won’t let him do what he wants. So either he blocks the path or traps me at the front door while I’m trying to get animals inside. This is a tort called “false imprisonment.”
It’s also sexism.
I’ve had dealings before with cranky old men who don’t like my non-submissive attitude. You’re not paying my bills, you’re not running my life.
Now I have to deal with another old fart who’s decided to be an asshole because I don’t obey him.
And here’s where the meditation comes in. And visualization.
I am not seeing myself pounding on his door and verbally tearing him a new one. I am not seeing myself gently applying a baseball bat to his head.
Well, I can. Legally.
I’m an author. I can write his nasty old bossy ass into a story and kill it, beat it, berate it, anything I want.
Never screw with an author.