dirty sexy gardens

I always get into sh*t when my defensive side comes to the fore.  I should be used to it, I suppose. 

For the sake of good order I would like to place the following on record.

1.  I haven't responded to a single post of Sven's since the original spat.  Even when he mentioned my name in post after post.

2.  Not to say I didn't read his blogs.  Every week or so I would go there to see if he had written anything.

3.  But, no matter what he said, I was determined to stay out of it.  To let sleeping dogs lie.  I'd go so far as to say that I was glad he hadn't deleted his blog - for his sake.  He needed this community.  More, at times, than any of us ever have. 

4.  Yesterday I was amused by his post, but did not comment, even though I knew full well he was referring mostly to me.

5.  And I was proud of myself for 'holding myself in'. 

6.  Until today when I saw his latest post.

7.  Then my blood truly began to boil.

8.  He was threatening, in a veiled manner, to expose the personal emails he had with our fellow bloggers (and it wasn't just the one).  There's another he was alluding to - trying to insinuate that her husband would hit her so badly when he read their mails, that he would put her in hospital.  I took a screen shot of that post as I suspected he might pull a move like this either to go out in 'a blaze of glory' or ,if he realised he was taking on more than he could handle and that he had less support he imagined he had, that he would delete his blog.

9.  Never in my life have I been able to walk away from the 'underdog' being harmed.

I have only ever told a handful of people in real life this story.  Today reminded me of it.

When I was 12 or 13 I had a best friend.  An Afrikaans girl.  From across the railway line. Literally.  She was 'really' from the wrong side of the tracks.  Her mother was *whispers* d.i.v.o.r.c.ed. AND had a *whispers* y.o.u.n.g.e.r. boyfriend.  AND they were having *whispers* s.e.x. AND didn't even try to hide it.  But I digress.  One day my friend and I were walking over the railway bridge when three Afrikaans girls came walking along in the opposite direction.  Eating ice cream.  My little dog ran over to them and was trying to lick the drops of ice cream that were falling on the ground, and their shoes.  Then one of the girls kicked her.  In her stomach.  And she was pregnant.  Well, the next thing I knew I had that girls hair wrapped around my fingers and I was hitting her face into my knee.  How long it went on for, I don't know, but the next thing I knew I had ripped the earring out of her ear and had her dangling over the railway bridge.  My friend pulled us away, which is  just as well, because I was in a blind rage.  We went home, and after the shock wore off, we began talking about it.  Blow for blow.  I couldn't believe what I had done.  That I even had the strength to do that in the first place.  I won't go into what happened when the girl's mother came to my mother with the girl in tow - her face was bruised and swollen - kinda looked like she'd been in a car accident.  I got the hiding of my life that night and the bruises on my knee took weeks to heal.  But it was then I became a bit scared of myself.  Of my temper. Of those long moments where I was completely oblivious to what I was doing.

Throughout my career I've been in shit with bossess for sticking up for someone.  Forever fighting other people's battles.  Why do I do this?  I truly can't tell you.  I mean, really... once I even pulled a huge fisherman off a small, drunk coloured man.  My ex boyfriend said afterwards that when he saw the big guy climb into the little guy, he looked over at me to see if I had noticed and before he could say a word, or grab me, I flew off my chair, just about jumped onto the big guy's back and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him off the small guy.  The ex says that he nearly died when he saw me shove my finger into the big guy's face, telling him to pick on people his own size.  The big guy just mumbled something and walked away.  Much to the ex's relief.

Over the years I've managed to control my temper remarkably well.  Probably only get angry a couple of times a year these days - living on your own obviously helps *grins* and seldom let people get completely under my skin.  I much prefer walking away these days and choosing my battles carefully.  But sometimes...  And no, I haven't ever become physical like that again.  Once was more than enough.  I knew I would've killed her had my friend not pulled me off her.  Deep down, I knew that.  And it frightened me.  Still does.  Because whatever it was that was in there, is still in there.  Please God no-one ever helps me find it again. Unless my life is in danger.  Or that of my child.  Or another woman or child.  Or ... ag.  You know what I mean.

So yeah.  That's me.  That's what I do.  I think those who know me as well as bloggers can get to know each other, will know that I don't go out there looking for someone to fight with.  I so could enter the racist forays, but I don't.  Just as I so could get stuck into some of the christian/atheist posts, with relish, but I don't.  In both forums there are people way more qualified than I to fight the good fight, but seriously, when it comes to my friends, or the weak, I can't just walk away. 

I can't.

Get over it.

~.~

Ag, I'm lying.  I was just having withdrawal systems and taking him on gave me a chance to squeeze a blog in.  Just one more.  Like this one.  Like any addict.  *grins mysteriously*