In which I make progress

I had a temporary mind lapse today in that I forgot about mine.

I'm not sure if I announced this or not -probably for  fear of jinxing it - but I've signed on to organize a media launch for a new neighbourhood initiative in Brampton. I won't go into details, but it's a new program that promotes a journey back into the days of old where you knew your neighbours and  spoke up when something did not bode well in the neighbourhood, whether it be overall safety, community involvement or concerns about new programs or developments. It's a great initiative and I'm excited to be involved. It also lets me wear more than sweat or yoga pants during my day-to-day dealings. Sweatpants are comfortable but as an everyday uniform it can get quite depressing.

But I digress... so I was working  in the office today, creating the media invite and working out the details for potential press releases. I was in my element, so much so that I forgot about from which I came - namely my last position in which the life was sucked out of  me. I had been researching alternate news sources and was getting ready to post an event to a local web portal and noticed that a former client from Cell Block C had received a business award - an outstanding business award. My first thought was "Oh, I should call up Mr. Ass and let him know so he can send a gift, a note, a whatever." And then my hand went to the phone. I still have his cell phone number seared into my brain. It's probably because he's Belzebub and the flames of pergatory had flickered out and branded me with his evilness. Or, it's because I'm a chump.

Either way, the number was half dialed, my finger resting on the final digit when I thought WTF and immediately hung up the phone. He did me no favours in the almost four years I worked at Cell Block C. He was Sybil in the male form and would go from giddy to gastrointestinal ass-hat in 60 seconds or less. He was a condescending, little snivelly twit who would run to mommy and daddy to complain about anyone and then would kiss ass in the next minute to get you back on his side. You can tell we had a love-hate relationship, and while we got along swimmingly for two years before the psychosis became too evident, our parting could not have come too soon.

I really don't think I'm a chump. I actually think I have selective memory disorder and the little girl who asks how high to jump when asked tends to revert back to the known. I also think that I can't change my integral self. I like to help and will give you the shirt off off of my back if you have a need. It's been ingrained in me and most times it's one of my better attributes. Except for those times that I offer the assistance, the caring to the wrong people.

The good news is I didn't bite. I didn't dial that last number and I didn't have to subject myself to the Jeckyl and Hyde that is Mr. Asshat. I didn't need to put myself in the situation where I had to talk to someone who I knew would be all sweet and mired in bullshit one moment and backstabbing you the next. I'd seen it before and I'm not going back.

I may not be past the initial instinct to help, no matter who it is, but atleast I can realize who is worth the effort and go from there. It's onward and upward to a better me, but one that will still break out in song in the middle of the grocery store and offer to buy complete strangers a can of spotted dick - 'cause I kinda like that girl.