Sanity Check

Tomorrow I will vent to Brent.
Today, it's been my sister
and some others who have listened
without offering advice, because
sometimes there is nothing left to say.
After all, it's not my fight or wisdom
that's in question. Not my choices,
just my phone that's getting texted
and about to drive me crazy.
(Right here would be a good place
to insert a long frustrated sigh).
Oh. My.
Tomorrow I will vent to Brent,
whose paid to hear me out and sit
there looking interested enough,
He'll reassure me that detachment
may be painful, but still preferable
to alternatives that I tried too long.
Call it coping mechanism,
meeting with a counselor,
a sanity check's the next thing
on my calendar. I'll gladly make the drive,
somewhat less so, pay the man
who seems to understand that everything
does not depend on me, not a matter of my being
strong or weak or loving those who think
I've let them down. Occasionally frowning,
he hears my secret fears, invites me share
my secret joys and  lets me cry and cuss
without a fuss because I've disappointed
tidy standards of propriety.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Brent may not appreciate this, come to think of it.  I'll ask him. Maybe he'll appreciate the free advertising and give me a discount. On the other hand, he might charge me for using his name without permission.