(Urinating Dog)

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Sometimes I find myself grateful for the strangest things. 

I found myself grateful that, only a short while ago, someone stopped talking to me. They claimed that I was taking my "hatred of men" out on them, even though I never once initiated a conversation on a controversial topic. When they actively solicited my opinion, knowing already that it's not going to be some ego-cushioning slaves-and-grapes fantasy, I'm not sure what else they expected. When they themselves said the words, "You know I don't have a leg to stand on in this argument," I'm not sure what they were looking for. 

If you don't have the facts, and you don't have the research, and you already know you're on the wrong side of this argument, what do you expect from me in that moment? To say that I am, in the face of all evidence, wrong? That they're right, or great, or good? 

Man, I don't know. I'm just grateful that they went away, and took their problematic opinions and traumatizing conversation with them. 

I'm grateful that my rehabilitation enabled me to accept that event and move on. 

At the same time, I shudder that I ever went so far as to have that many conversations with such a person. Knowingly, analytically, went along with it because I believed I was being safe. 

Safe (urinating dog). [Props if you get the reference. :P]

I have the habit of dancing on the edge. Any edge will do in a pinch. Be it with alcohol or horrible men, there is just no escaping the call of addiction. 

I joke about being in fuckboy rehab, but, really, where's the joke? 

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