The other day, I was thrown back in time. A bitter madeleine from the outskirts of my existence made me rush through the last eight months of my life. What had I been up to since November last year?
Delivering ideas and texts to my clients. A local school board, an icecream manufacturer, a company who makes medical diagnostic tools, just to mention a few. What else? I’d turned my budding business into an incorporated company. I’d spent a lazy vacation in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria. I’d started a philosophy dinner club with a few friends. I’d fallen in love with yoga. I’d met a man who made me laugh, feel good about myself, and hope for something more. (Until he vanished without a word.) I had been happy, sad, lazy, busy. I had worked, loved, run, fucked, dreamed and much more.
What I had not done, however, was conspire against a woman I hardly know, in order to steal a man I had no romantic or sexual interest in. That story existed only in her head. Apparently, it had been living inside her head for eight months, weighing heavily on her heart. What an utter waste of time.
When she finally vented her accusations, I was shocked. Insulted. Pissed off. Now, I only hope that she will find a way of loving him without attacking people who just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That she will get help to find inner peace and security.
I sincerely wish her well.