I have to wonder if men ruminate on their mistakes like I do. I know other women do- I have participated in the maudlin pissing contests of guilt that a group of women share as a bonding experience when they all want to feel sorry for themselves at the same time. Fortunately this is rare. But they are the same. One woman starts by complaining about how she lost her job. And the next in the circle has to top it with something worse... This dynamic is the same if the mood of the group was up- because then everyone has to share happy news or a funny story, and they have to top it. Or complaining about ill health, and they have to top 2 broken legs and a black eye because her husband punched her when she was drunk last night. I want to stop the circle right then and hustle that woman to a shelter to get her away from her husband- I don't want to tell the circle about the time I tripped while running on a grassy slope and landed face first on the paved parking lot below, skidded 5 feet and then got run over by a car... but I feel the story warming up inside of me and out it comes. Circles of Hell, that's what they are.

But I ruminate. I think about every job I have been laid off from- what a fancy name for fired so we don't sue. Doesn't matter really what they call it- I was still a failure. And whenever I have a job now, I have to do it watching over my shoulder with a familiar haunted look, when are they going to catch me now? Surely, I am no good at this too? Surely they will find any excuse to cut me loose and I will have failed again. I don't notice the subtle sabotage of damage I do to myself- too much time worrying and not enough working. I obsess about the wrong things. Will they notice I forgot hose this time? These shoes do not match my purse. I wrote a note in purple ink. I misspelled my own name, dammit. It's a slippery slope from here to vomit all over their shoes, and I don't know how far I will slide.

I remember every cutting word I ever said to deliberately hurt anyone. I remember the small slights of rudeness, the deliberate manipulation so I could have the bigger piece of cake. And I really no longer know what good is left in me, or what sort of impact I could leave that would in any way possible be positive. Why must I think only of the bad? Why can't I focus on the warm sunshine and a pleasant cup of tea? No, I must think of tea spilled, and the nervous flush heating my skin.  ¶ 12:15 PM