2003-04-14 - 10:05 p.m.
Iím too angry to write. Iím too angry to read the words that other people have written, the deep and soulful ponderings of their lives or even the frivolous minutia of their days is too much for me to behold at the moment. Any instant of wit or humor I fear would raise such gall in my chest that I would choke to death in apocalyptic fury.
I have no reason for this coursing anger that seethes through me and threatens to drown me in the malevolent tide of criticism that possesses every fiber of my being. And makes me melodramatic it seems. I feel stuck. Screeching to a stop on new brakes to crush that dime under the imprint of my metaphoric tires. Iíve always despised my lack of feeling but now that I've replaced it with this passionate feeling, Iím afraid, how it consumes me and makes me inapproachable and resentful, petty, churlish, and a million other adjectives (are those really adjectives, in my rush to confirm thought to virtual paper I have no idea) that mean similar things, torn roughly from the thesaurus I keep in my brain.
Everything and nothing holds my fascination or wonder. There is nothing but ugly cynism (my spell check tells me that such a word does not exist. I would say otherwise.) contained within me at the moment. Vitriol (another word that allegedly does not exist however I know it does as I am an AP English scholar and such a word was on my test, fucking worthless spellchecker. DIE! DIE DAMN YOU DIE!!!!) courses through my veins in lieu of blood.
So, why is this here? Surely I donít go into a rage over nothing. But itís true. Stress, life, the choices Iíve made have led me to this point where I find no comfort in anything except my own effusive ill temper. Yes, effusive. Iím allowed to use the word, because I can use it correctly. My irascible wrath breedís caustic resentment, I assure you. As is the spell check. I suppose this wrath is better than the ennui of the week before. The thing I donít get is that it was absent all weekend. I had a nice weekend. It was pleasant, homey, at times idyllic. Sure, I got whacked by a falling palm tree branch on Sunday and had to go to the hospital this morning for an X-ray. It was forced upon me by the company, not by choice, in a not very subtle lawsuit fear angle. They only confirmed that yes, I was bruised by a falling palm tree branch and refused to give me pain pills or muscle relaxants, thus increasing the ire. I canít even say it was because my current employer accepted my resignation readily, as my anger developed Sunday night. Before I had any clue what today would be like. Perhaps this sense of peevishness distorted my view of the day, itís very possible. Maybe it will make me careless, or at the very least, intractable throughout the week. And I prefer it to the hopelessness of the weeks prior. I am just not feeling comfortable with it. Itís not me. Or maybe it is, and this is what Iíve been hiding from for so long. Either way, it makes me disagreeable. And gives me a headache that I only have Advil to duel against far more swarthy opponents. Damn doctors.
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Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20
Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18Guestbook Notes