Six months. Six months of heat. Six months of house arrest. Six months of international discord. SIx months of undistilled anger, and unchecked aggression. OK, it isn't fair to say unchecked. That aggression was sure as hell checked by a lot of other jaws... It just began to fester, and fester until one day it somehow zapped itself into disappearance. Somehow, I wasn't very angry anymore (that's a lie). I was angry. I just wasn't hurt anymore.

Reality and accountability are funny things. The former masquerades as some incredible fantasy before it shatters like a mirror you didn't want to see your reflection in. You have to face the second once the former is shattered because frankly, you're not left with a whole lot else. Once what and who you thought you were have been challenged, you're held accountable for your beliefs. You're held accountable for the lies you told, for the things you wish you hadn't done, and a lot of other things that breed in the dark when it's damp.
Oh, to have a date with both reality and accountability in one night.

While that's not my idea of a good time, neither was the cold of Sacrosanct as it bit the unfortunate stubble covering my jaw. I'd traded the delicious heat of South Africa for this, again? I don't think I'd like to admit to it or to myself at this moment, but I deserved the bite of the cold. I deserved the uncomfortable sense of reality it . What I don't believe I deserved was served warm to me in the form of neon-clad yoga-lady warriors . Ripe with the scent of cheap perfume and yogi-enlightenment, they waddled directly into my way as I stood in line, waiting for someone to pour me a coffee with enough espresso to send me into a cocaine-esque high.

The woman who clearly attempted to avoid the yoga-warriors slid into line in front of me, and for once I didn't feel like discussing judgement day with an asshole who got in front of me. She was right to avoid those perfectly toned women, lest it rub off.

"Hey, Buffy, when you're done texting Angel can you move along? Spike says he wants his yoga mat back."

I wasn't intending on that approach to encouraging the woman to take a step closer to the counter, but once it left my lips I was very pleased with how it sounded. How kitschy.

With her petite stature and and the aggressive way she squared her shoulders, the young woman reminded me all too much of a Dark Hunter I had met before deportation, earning her the humorous moniker I'd dubbed her with a moment earlier.

"I really need some caffeine before I grow fangs. Can you order please?"