Crackheads and Doormats: It's all about boundaries!

"have you lost your place?
I wore my doormat face.
I hung my this or that.
I laid my welcome mat."

R.E.M. 

A crackhead spit on my new car this morning.  Zippityfuckingdodahday!  All I did was tell him I didn't have two dollars or a sausage biscuit, unless I wanted to give him my daughter's breakfast or the money I gave her for after school.  Forgive me, but my child takes precedence.

I wasn't always so quick to say no.  Once upon a time, I wandered my stomping grounds with a big, fat sign on my forehead that said please dump your shit here and take my money and take everything while you're at it because I obviously don't need it.

Whatever the sob story was, I bought it. 

Not judging at all.  As we locked eyes through my windshield and he bestowed upon me the most hateful expression I've seen in a long time, I felt empathy for him.   Even as he bent down to hock a wad on the hood of my Honda, I felt compassion for him. Wow.  I don't care about the spit, but I will never forget that look.  He visually stated:  I HATE YOU LITTLE WHITE BITCH IN YOUR SHINY NEW CAR! 

He judged me. 

For a second, I felt guilty - until I remembered that codependence is often disguised as a bleeding heart. 

We all get lost sometimes, but I'm pretty sure we have to find ourselves.

And his anger had nothing to do with me, so I drove on and said a little prayer for that lost soul.

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