So I invested another millimetre’s worth of tooth enamel in that scuzzy bastard last night: hardly slept at all.
I wasn’t particularly thinking about him or not running him over. I most definitely wasn’t feeling sentimental.
It was like I had All The Feelings bubbling just under my Conscious-Thought Bubble. Like caffeine too late in the day leads to a tired body and a restless mind.
I kept telling him to go away; kept shutting him out; but he was still there, lanky arms and legs, fuzzball face, scraping his lacksidaisical fingernails on my metaphorical braindoor.
And the positive thing I can see in this – because, let’s admit, that’s something I can always see – is that I didn’t let it pull me down any further than that.
I’ll sleep well tonight and continue on with my own life – one that I feel increasingly proud of, one where I don’t feel embarrassed by my actions because I own them, a life where I refuse to scuttle away from things that are difficult or people I don’t particularly admire.
And he … he will continue to be lost. And continue to scuttle. And continue to lie and betray until the end.
Because a leopard — even a lazy, gormless, psychopathic one — doesn’t ever really change his spots.
1000 days 