After all I did have a Russian thug's pistol. Not to mention that I had challenged him to come for it. The more awake I became, the more I realized what a stupid move that had been. I put myself at risk and gained nothing worthwhile for it. Self loathing was a powerful emotion; it caused me to attack that thug, when the night before self preservation kept me from doing the same thing. It seemed to be an emotion strong enough to force one to do terribly stupid things.The shower and the day old coffee helped me with my self esteem issue even more. I still felt worthless, but not quite as suicidal. I knew from experience that by nightfall, I would have justified everything to myself. After that I could start my psychic healings.I wasn't about to dress for a storefront church, but I did put on my best jeans. I drove the minivan to the address clipped to my sun visor. The building was part of three attached buildings each sharing common interior walls. It was typical of the 1920s version. Something deep in my body was tellingme I was getting close to something. But what? I didn't know.I was already unbuttoning the blouse further, and removing it slowly.Letting the soft fabric fall away from my arms. I then did the same withthe already too tight pants that were pushing my panties further up myass. I felt my behind relieved at letting gravity finally do its job. Icouldn't believe part of me seemed to be enjoying this. I stared in themirror for a few moments. The bra firmly held my breasts in place. I wasabout to remove it, and expose my chest for the first time, butremembered that I had to act fast. First things first. I got to thefront of the pewter, that still held the book at its place. I took outthe greeting card and textually read the words. Like a cartoon, theletters moved and flipped before my eyes. Obscure Latin was now replacedwith familiar English. This did improve my reading experience. "Thankyou Grazelda!" A smile soon returned to my face.Finally, I was.
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