Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth. If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions it’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response. I need a network; they follow me with sand, snatch from me my burning pacifier and save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong. We all need a little excitement in our lives but I don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill that need. I forget that boring isn’t the same as death; it just feels that way. Some days, distance prevents disaster; a good support system carries me away to face it on another day.
Don’t be afraid to turn the kaleidoscope.
So, you stepped into a hornets nest
and now how am I to respond?
Blame you, no, I don’t think so,
I mean you are the exterminator
and some stings are to be expected,
but this is far beyond even your honed ability
to anticipate wasps.
Cry, running from this ambush?
Again, I decline
I still want you after the war is over,
even if I can not fight by your side.
Protest, I try to refrain,
I never want to make your job harder
but I don’t want to leave the impression
I have no concern, so I walk the fine line.
Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think,
I am helpless and lonely,
not as exciting as your work
and no comfort from this distance.
I must hold my breath
while you provoke the bees.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault