Alpha Female

let not
us that are squires of the night's body be called
thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's
foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the
moon; and let men say we be men of good government,
being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and
chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal. Falstaff, H4P1

I just sent a query to an editor who doesn't like them, to be positively droll after my wee morning sausage toast. I know better, of course, than to violate guidelines, but assumed the standard query with clips applied without scrolling down all the way, which is why I'll never be Ruth Gordon, can't be Gwen Ifill, and don't want to be either of them, but this idea is not a piece I am willing to commit to without approval. You can laugh, at and with me.

I have failed more than succeeded in the news business, but it is not that. My hatred of Liberty and its sister 50 state wide models gives these centers more primacy than deserved, analogous to Dacy's Graham seeing the light due to Hannibal's excessive scheming. I am ashamed of the fact that I allowed Linda to push me over the edge, that I facilitated her ability to abuse my trust 50 ways through a dead end maze. I want to see her suffer, to hear her bones snap, not because she terminates the employment of vulnerable subordinates, but because she deliberately humiliates and openly condones criminal conduct, and has gotten away with doing it since she became Vice President. She has a Masters degree in Social Policy and Law, was touted as the center's mouthpiece, but god forbid that Liberty holds her accountable for nearly driving me to commit suicide. I am never going to get past this. They hire the diseased and impaired, and even the pre-die off from dialysis, then dump them like a milling herd of lambs doomed to slaughter, but Linda Dezenski will no doubt  expire as chief operating officer, and Liberty will embalm her, a waxed Lenin in the lobby, after she accused me of wanting to sleep with her, as if I was the one who brought up her orgasm quotient. She forgot that my hamstrings were cut, forgot all about her "recognition of the personal bond between us," forgot she wished she had been kinder.

People have been fired, even hurt, for less than what she did to me, and I have already written about what my life has been like in the last fourteen years, in comparison to her ruthlessly maintained security and appearances, the empowered ice princess. It simply isn't fair, what I have had to suffer in this city's environs, in a pattern of sustained cruelty, ineptitude, and she gets off every day, fifteen minutes away from me, with her pension secure, decent health benefits. Aaron Eckhart certainly offered his fans a lesson in the truth about these prevaricating figurines, but that was a film. There the victim of a ruthless manipulation rearranged the entrapments that held her in place without any visible consequences to her character.

Where I am at, in this point and time, I probably can't survive leaving the influence of the center's circumference without further duress which might prove to be otherwise irreparable. How high is the price for the murderer in you?