Reservation Of Rights

I’m standing in the buffet line of relationships and I’m laughing at the abundance of foolishness that has appeared on my  plate in the silent treatment section of the options before me. 

Since when is ignoring an issue the solution to anything?

Yet there it is crowding this dish, a cold salad of disinterest dressed with a lack of concern over potential outcome or repercussion. 

I guess someone feels I’m being fed my just desserts and I’m getting my fill of punishment, surely I’m accompanying this with a long chug of my bitter pill elixir that will certainly show me the error of my ways. 

I should be learning some lesson in all of this but the only thing I’ve learned is to develop a refinement to this palette of mine. 

There are better choices out there with which to entice my heart’s tastebuds, there is a finer wine to consume than this drink of sour grapes coating my punished, cursed, misunderstood and overrated tongue. 

The judge and jury, wearing the chef’s hat and apron, traverses the kitchen of the holier than thou creating conflict entree options to be sold a la carte on the menu of crazy. 

Sadly, in an effort to do the right thing, I’m still ordering from that menu in the hopes that my old stomping ground will come back to its original lustre. 

But I’m fooling myself because I’m no longer welcome at this establishment. The signs have made it clear: ‘We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.’

I have gone from the finest of diners to just anyone

I’ve been to the best dives, I’ve sat in the finest of places and I’ve shared the spoils from my pantry of life freely and abundantly with too many to count. 

Yet here I am, practically sitting in the drive-thru line and someone has arbitrarily decided that I should park my car and wait. 

I’ve waited and waited and waited.

I’ve done the right thing and in the process forgot one very important fact…

I never go through a drive-thru window for anything and I don’t like buffet lines. 



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