PJ wants me to tell you I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, that just because Sam publicly pleaded for privacy on Sunday with regards to their formal divorce proceedings underway does not mean I am automatically the town harlot. That speculation is simply that, and I am an easy target.
The truth is I had nothing to do with Sam and Lisabeth breaking up, and those who spent last fall watching me slip into and out of the church almost daily for several months straight don't read here (really it wasn't anyone's business that I was getting grief counseling) and chose to talk about me. Then Lisabeth poured some fuel on the fire almost inadvertently by worrying aloud about me to others. Because she wasn't so sure. I've been her. I can't blame her. I wouldn't blame her.
Just like you can't blame me.
I wouldn't touch Sam. He's a friend, not a lover. Never ever ever.
So save the stakes with which you were going to burn me. When I have really and truly earned my fate, I'll go quietly, I swear. That time hasn't come.
(Now, God, could you please stop finding ways to mess with me? Thank you.)
