Yesterday, RicoChey spoke of making traditionally life-altering decisions, and asked us all, "how do you go through its motions? Passively? Reactively? Dismissively?"

I am moody lately. Intensely so. This happens from time to time--I am a Leo, after all. Not all the moods have names. Yesterday's question hit my most recent mood right in the sore spot. How many life-altering decisions have I made that I can track from inception to end result, defending my actions all the way and doing so proudly, faithfully? Well, I'm not great with math, but I am fairly certain that the numbers would not add up to an impressive total.

With that statement, another question bears its wobbly head... what would be an impressive total?

What should the sum of twenty-four years of legal adulthood and the vast volumes of all the decisions made in that twenty-four years look like? Should this be a simple addition problem, or a complex algebraic formula? Are there tools of measurement to be applied? I'm not all that good with math or tools, but I am fairly certain no human has discovered an infallible measuring stick for such things.

Hold on to your answers, and bear with me. I'm trying very hard not to fill this page with all my crazy and triple digits' worth of expletives. I am frustrated. And there's a full moon.

I have not since the age of twelve believed that marriage and love can coexist, and yet, here I am, an old married lady of twenty-four years. I never once in my youth sat quietly by while someone was abused, verbally or physically, by a bigoted asshole without making sure my own sense of universal justice was made swiftly clear. And yet I sit in a cubicle daily allowing toxic verbal puke to stink up my soul without saying a word, or waving any flags, or wielding the hot poker of universal justice.

I really don't regret getting married--I love the guy. I do regret not waiting until I had a more realistic understanding of my own needs. If I had done that, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't suffer these great suffocating bouts of who exactly the f*ck am I? Didn't I used to be fabulous and fiery and shameless in my ability to be exactly who I was meant to be? Or was I just a delusional kid with a bad attitude who eventually lucked in to the opportunity to grow up with my best friend? Which one is me?

I don't regret getting my ass kicked once or twice in defense of some poor innocent passerby who had the misfortune to encounter humankind's toilet dressed in jeans and a Lynard Skynard t-shirt. And as good as my current position has been in providing paychecks right on time, as good as most of my coworkers have been to me, I feel my soul shriveling up every time that other guy opens his mouth and I don't go in there and stick my boot in it.

Adulthood brings with it the realization of diplomacy, compromise, widespread overpopulated gray areas. This is all true. Generally, I'm cool with that.

But man, there are days when the gray blinds me.

I don't like living in the gray. I don't like questioning myself. I need some black and white. So, I come here... for now... to this blank white page and I put some of my crazy down in black, in hopes of discovering what I know, what you know, and what might become of all that's in the muddled middle.

Sometimes I pose the question to you darling Flamers, HOW DO YOU LIVE WITH PEOPLE. Today I ask, how have you dealt with regrets that lingered long after life-altering decisions?

February is full of drabble love, and the first topic is Curiouser & Curiouser. #gowrite

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