#41

Took a day off yesterday; figured hard crying jags followed by writing about them merited such. Well, today I had an even harder cry, complete with a sudden-onset spell of fury wherein I attacked a comforter with all four limbs before wadding it up and screaming into it. There's a punching bag in the basement, but I only struck it once before in my madness (and, if the books I have read are to be believed, because of a particular trauma in my past) I tried to bite it. Almost cracked my jaw off, like a shark trying to get its teeth around the big old metal hull of a boat. Thus, I turned to the comforter, for an alternate version of its intended comforts.

You're wondering what's eating at me this week? Nothing in particular, I think. This is normal behavior, from a sane and balanced man who has made good choices all his life.

Look. I eat well, wake up early, don't drink or smoke cigs, don't fuck or date, and I do chores and read books when I'm not working. I got no record, no jail time, no pregnancies all over town. I do not litter, steal, bother anyone, or make noise. If I want to fucking cry all the time--like as my god-damn mothershitting hobby--I fucking will. 

Hear? I fucking will. I got the right, if I have the wherewithal; and right now, I do. So I will.

It's fine. This is how you get better. I wish it were easier, too.


--JL