Do you serve revenge in a crock pot or on ice?
My loyal readers will have noticed by now that I have not been writing on any sort of regular basis as of late. I love saying, "my loyal readers". It sounds like I have droves of them when in reality it's just my Mom, my husband and some weird guy from Montana that lives with a goat named Sheila and thinks I have a purty mouth.
I have been absolutely incapable of writing for a few months now. Well, that's not entirely true. I have written my obituary again and again. I keep hoping it'll turn out differently, but in the end I'm always dead.
Frankly, I've just been too depressed to write. I've spent hours on end wearing my fat pants and hiding under my desk with a can of chocolate frosting and a spoon. I haven't chased the dog around the house, I haven't river danced and the fire batons haven't once been fired up.
It's been a pitiful time here in Whoville.
What has caused this severe lack of happiness and lack of writing motivation, you ask? Well, grab yourself a hanky and beverage to cry into and I'll tell you.
An editor. Plain and simple, short and sweet. An editor. I can't be certain, but I think his middle name was Beelzebub and I observed that his email address did have an unusually large recurrence of the number six in it.
I'm a writer of the kinds of things many people will just never get, therefore I am plenty accustomed to rejection when I finally do get the nerve to submit my work to a publication. But this rejection was different. This was a vampire editor. He is able to maintain his pathetic life only through luring innocent writers into his lair and then digging his teeth deep into our literary jugulars until every last drop of our creativity has been sucked dry.
Thankfully, I'm not bitter.
But, while I was wallering around the house knee deep in self pity and Betty Crocker, I started to wonder about revenge. Have I ever really "gotten back" at someone when I've had my feelings hurt and more importantly, how could I get back at this mean old so and so?
I'm told revenge is a dish best served cold, but I'm not nearly clever enough to know what that means. Sort of makes revenge sound like green onion dip.
The truth is I get my feelings hurt all the time and admittedly way too easily. In fact, if I have been in the same room with you for more than two minutes, chances are you've hurt my feelings. Frankly, if I were to seek revenge on every person that has made me cry, I'd spend six days a week doing nothing but putting sugar in gas tanks.
I do have to admit that I have a slightly evil side that periodically dreams up ways to exact my revenge on those who have wronged me. Much like that little cartoon devil that sits on the shoulder of Fred Flinstone when he's faced with the choice between right and wrong, she encourages me to do evil things when my feelings are hurt. And although I usually manage to shut her up, once in awhile I'd really like to do something entirely nasty.
Which brings me back to the editor that I have decided would make an excellent prison cellmate for any toothless guy named Bubba currently residing in our country's penal system. I've decided to get him back. To do that, I will simply write the world's greatest novel titled, "The Meanest Man That Ever Lived" for which I will undoubtedly win the Pulitzer and will be paid the tidy sum of one go-zillion dollars.
And when I am interviewed by Oprah, I will tell her my sad story of woe and how this editorial troll nearly squashed my inner spirit (she loves that inner spirit stuff) and how I somehow overcame his mental cruelty one painful day at a time. He will be ostrasized by the entire nation and some parts of Ireland and will be forced to live alone on an island inhabited only by those flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz where he will die old and alone.
OK. Maybe I'm just a smidge bitter.
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Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
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