Break it down... Hey.... Hey.... Heeeey......

Got up (on time, hells yeah), took a shower (which I did not do yesterday, which very well may have contributed to my give a fuck attitude), put on my no pocket jeans (which look sweeeet on my ghetto booty, cause as my mom always said, "I have an hourglass figure with all the sand at the bottom) and my super cool hand knitted headband (that Sara, my knitting addict sponsee gave me cause she looks straight crazy in headbands and she knows it) to match one of my favorite sweaters I finally get to start wearing since the weather has turned (how bout THAT for pullin' some gratitude out of my ass, since I was bitchin' about the weather yesterday?).

Went to work and went balls to the wall all day closing tickets on the last day of the month (since Sara was off for the day to get oral surgery, which is SO not as much fun as taking the day off to get oral).  Sometimes, I gotta admit, I miss doin' her job, because there's always so much to do and I love, love, LOVE working in chaos (go figure).

Came home and did absolutely NOTHING but eat pizza and watch dvr (It's Always Sunny, CSI and some dumbshit videos of people having horribly painful accidents trying to do stunts, which was totally hilarious) and then watch Secondhand Lions AGAIN, because that movie always makes me feel good.  I want to REALLY live like they did and die with my boots on.

THEN, I logged onto Facebook and saw that Mable MissDemeanor had her puppies and got SO excited to see them that I had to call her house maid Mindy to squeel in excitement with her!  They are ADORABLE!  If I didn't already have three dogs, I would totally HAVE to have one.  But alas, I cannot, so in order to keep one in the family, I called the Marvel Matt (my FAVORITE male sponsee) and made him get excited too!  I uber hope he decides to get one.  He'd make a great Big Daddy to one of them baby girls and he really needs to be a Daddy to a REAL bitch, instead of them ones he's been havin' swimmin' in the darkness like the sharks that they are!  ;)

And now, here I am, ending my day, forcing the world wide web to swallow my descriptive words of it.

GUUUUULP.

Good night people of the planet!

Acting as if...

... you give a rat's ass some days is really fucking hard work.  I'm usually in receipt of a pretty hefty salary for this job I do quite well.  I can mask when I'm having a bad day better than most, as I truly believe in you reap what you sow; therefore, I don't treat people like shit just because I have a headache or some twisted plot turning in my head and don't have time to deal with anyone else but myself. 

I am rewarded greatly by having many people around me who honestly care for me and the fact that if they're having a rough time of it, they can count on me to be a confidante, a companion, a champion of their cause, co-signing or discouraging their next best plan; and I have many who respond in kind for which I am extremely grateful.

So it is with the deepest of gratitude that I say that it's been a tough damn day for me to be my normal carefree self.  I woke up in pain.  This weather is killing my damn shoulder deformity, which made it difficult to sleep and even harder to get up.  The shoulder makes my neck hurt, which makes my head feel like my scalp is gonna peel off at any second, no matter how many damn aspirin I can stomach.  Month end has suprisingly rolled around again at work and my boss was in his own dark space all day.  But I smiled at everyone and did my job and answered the phone when I was needed.  Even managed to reach out and speak to another woman about my "hyssy fit" issues that I wrote about yesterday.  I kept it all wound up as tightly as I could today, because no one else needs to suffer just because I am.  And yet, all it took was ONE person to cop an attitude, not even one directed at ME, just an attitude, and I have completely lost all grip on my desire to "act as if".  If other people suck at it, then by Gawd, I will too.

Fuck this.  Fuck that.  Fuck her.  Fuck him.  Fuck it all.  Who gives a flying fucking fuck?

Oh yeah.  That's right.  I do.  This is not who I am or who I've ever been.  But damn, it kinda feels good to have my moments....  :>  (that's an evil grin)

You Look MAHVELOUS darling.

And if you LOOK good, you'll FEEL good.  O.K.  What Evah.  This week, since my state of mind seems to be more like a disconnected semi-state, like Samoa, instead of sunny like California, I've been trying to "look good, to feel good."  It's not really workin'...

I did at least stumble upon what's up.  I have cried every damn day for about a week now and could not for the life of me figure out what the hell my problem was.  After some reflection over the weekend, I realized that since my hysterctomy on August 5th, I had concentrated so much on recovering physically, that I had completely put the emotional stuff on a back burner.  Telling everyone I'm fine, thinking that yes, I was fine.  I was finally able to drive and ride my motorcycle and go to work and all of that stuff, so I was doin' great compared to the six weeks of at home recovery that followed the surgery.

The reality is, that I'm not fine.  I have a piece of myself that has been permanently taken away from me.  I still have twinges of physical pain, which are bearable, but my body has changed forever.  My stomach muscle structure has been mangled and strangled and it shows.  I'm wearing longer shirts and lower cut jeans to hide the hideousness (as I see it) that I can barely stand to look at in the mirror.  I'm feeling completely unattractive and unappealing.  Empty.  Gut sad.  Scared and fearful that the "who-who" will never return to any type of "what-what" a partner would want.  Worried that I can't seem to reconcile my feelings on a consistent basis on the absolute fact that I will never have a child.

But, I talked to my sponsor and the people nearest and dearest to me about it over the past few days.  I have all the love and support to get through this anyone could ever wildly dream of and I'm grateful as hell.  I'm not going to quietly suffer through it like I have been.  I'm talking about it.  I'm writing about it.  Hell, I even shared about it in my meeting last night, which was full of men.  It went a little like this:

     "What is [insert 12 step program of choice]? [12 step program of choice] is a place for me to reach out for help when I need it. [12 step program of choice] is full of people asking people how they got through something they've never faced before, like getting and staying clean. All you guys are fine with talkin' about the pussy out in the parking lot, so you need to get fine with knowing that I've never had a damn hysterectomy before and I've got emotions that I don't know what to do with. If you have a wife, girlfriend, mother, sister, whatever that's already been thru this, I need help."

And ya know what, I got 5 different phone numbers for women who've already travelled this road, 2 of which were from men.  And of course a few laughs with the boys about how I'd raised the temperature in there by talking about pussy.  Bunch a pussies!

VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA!   PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY!!!  Get over it!  If I have to, so do you!  ;)

Good Times. Good Times.

Those of you who REALLY know me, know that I have about the most eclectic taste in music one could possibly have.  My 60 gig iPod is completely full and it doesn't even have all of my music on it!  I have about every genre imaginable.  I listen to whatever mood I'm in or want to be taken out of.  So, the Ben Folds concert I went to last night, to some, might be classified my most as "a show" and not a concert.  Vernacular.  Who cares.  It was awesome as always.  When we got there and found that the venue was so tiny, I was immediately happy happy happy.  When I saw that the only equipment on stage was Ben's piano, I was jumping up and down.  I LOVE the shows he does best when it's just him and his music alone on stage.

Now, it's always interesting to see what artist Ben has helped get their foot in the door and last night was no exception.  Last time it was Missy Higgins.  This time was another young lady from Australia named Kate Miller-Heidke.  She came out with a man with an acoustic guitar.  She was so tiny.  The first few songs, as I was trying to decide if I liked her style, were slow and somewhat sad.  Reflective.  Good, but eh.  Then, in the middle of I think the 3rd one, she broke out this aria in an operatic voice that I could not BELIEVE came out of that small body.  It seriously caught me off guard.  I looked at Sara and said, "What the fuck was THAT???"  We were both just like, "wow."  Uncertain of whether that was even appropriate for her to do in that song.  Then, she did it again.  And some more.  And I gotta tell you, it grew on me.  So much so, that I found myself wishing she'd just do opera non-stop and I've never been a big fan.  But, it was amazing.  It was moving.  It was paralyzing.  Music in all forms that touch my soul leave me feeling so grateful to BE.  Thank you Kate.  The song "Are You Fucking Kidding Me?" has made me laugh several times today.  I'm a bit sad that after buying her album and listening to it, it is nothing like the live performance she gave, but  I will follow her for a few years and see if the recordings are worthy of the voice she showed in person.  I truly hope so.

Now, Ben.  Well, brilliant.  As always.  His story telling ability is so beautiful.  These stories of people I feel I've grown to know over the years, Zak and Sara, Song for the dumped, Kate, Belinda, Emmaline, Mr. Jones, the poor dumbass on acid in a tree...  I'm glad I got to visit with them again last night.  :)  I'm friggin' tired as hell today and feel I may be getting too old to be out that late on a week night, but it was totally worth it.  And seeing Maddie have so much fun was really REALLY cool.  Sara is a lucky mom.  She's got a great kid.  Even though Maddie was a bit disappointed that he didn't perform Rockin' the Suburbs, since she was going to be allowed to scream the F word along with everyone else.  The negotiations process was the cutest, with mom "giving her permission to make her own decision without getting into trouble".  Not QUITE a yes, but a damn good way to make it the kid's responsibility.  Awesome Sweetness.

Who's coming to town next....? 

The Way is Clear - We are Assimilating the Child

It is time.  The beautiful and illustrious Saratina and I will be bringing her daughter into the Ben Folds Fold this evening, as well as an esteemed gentleman by the name of Andy.  We mean no harm.  We shall enlighten them to the wonders of the cutest geek on the planet Earth.  Much joy will be had by them of course as they bask in the wonderment of their first Ben Folds Experience, but it will not touch the absolute ecstacy of Sara and I, as we bring new blood into the concert hall.  Yay, it shall be my Ben Folds FIVE experience, having participated four times before.  Miss Sara, having just begun her journey last October in the pouring rain, has now been indoctrined and cannot flee the glee.  No she can not, and therefor she must propegate the geek species and pass the BF torch to her daughter.  I will be on my best behavior and hope beyond hope that I will not have to display the ugly side of concert line etiquette as I did last time, having been forced to smack talk Biff and Muffy Squared who line jumped as the doors opened when my pant legs were drenched to the knees from waiting in line around an entire friggin' corner in a downpour.  They almost destroyed my inner peace and got an umbrella jammed up their noses.  Yes.  I must behave in front of the child, but if lessons need to be taught, so shall they be!  I'll post an update tomorrow...  Ohhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm.

Jinx Pinch Poke, SOMEBODY buy me a Coke!

It's that time of year for me.  My bestest girl Jen jinxed me.  She asked me at the beginning of the week how I was faring with the changing of the seasons and I said, "Really well.  I think the medication, that I've been diligently on since almost a year ago, is definitely working." 

She of all people knows that I have fought with my depression the most at this time of the year.  She knows that 98% of my relationships, romance, platonic and with myself, have taken turns for the drastically worse at this time of year.  My first husband and I separated on Thanksgiving Day.  My second husband and I, in our many demises, rarely spent a winter together, and ultimately ended in an October.  My relationship last year fell apart right around the same time the one before it started to crash and burn the year before. 

It's also at these times that I isolate myself from friends and family, some of which are still there on the other side, some who are not.  Jen and a small handful are always there when I come out of the shadows.  The people closest to me know better than to come in with me.  It's too damn dark in there and I won't let them.  I actually know my way around pretty well.  O.K.  So last year was definitely different.  I knew the way out, I just didn't want to keep walking.  My closest people kept telling me, "you can do this Dinie, you've been through this before."  And my answer was, "I know I CAN, I just can't find the will to WANT to do it again."  I was tired and broken and bleeding on the inside and had no desire for self repair or anymore Mr. FixIt's. 

Jen convinced me to talk to my Doctor.  He couldn't let me legally leave the premises after our chat.  Sara got to come get me and she's the one that had the ultimate pleasure of bargaining with the lunatic to stay at the hospital.  It came down simply to, "if you let me go smoke a cigarette in your truck, I'll stay."  I think she might have lit it for me.  :)  And then came the big fun in the nut ward and the resistence to having to be on some damn pill forever.  What if it changed the good stuff about me?  Made me boring as hell?  Fuck that.  I'd rather be insanely suicidal than BORING!  And yet, it didn't.  It took two different tries and several weeks to adjust, but it's been pretty damn good not swinging out into the thunderclouds every couple of months. 

Slowly and steadily I've gotten my life back on an even track, in spite of the pennies that are sometimes on the rails.  I flattened them and kept on rolling.  Yet today, I feel like I hit a spike that's come loose.  I am jarred and jostled.  A bit off balance and feeling pretty ricketty.  I'm not feeling like the Japanese Shinkansen bullet train so much as a really fucking old steam engine that can't shovel my coal fast enough.  I'm gettin tired again.  I'm not givin' up.  Trust me.  That's why I'm telling on myself.  Retraining my train.  I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...  Oh.  All right I know I can.  And I am.  Woot Woot.

Holy Crap and the Glory of Stretch

Yes.  I am going to be 40 in just a few short months.  Yes.  That means I am a totally rad child of the 80's.  I was pinch rolling joints as well as my jeans before Fast Times even came out.  This was way before the zippers in the ankles came and you would have to arch your foot juuuust so to be able to get the fucking pants on if you had the money to get the skinny legged jeans.  And there was absolutely no sexy way to get out of them.  Your paramore would literally have to jerk you halfway across the bed or bench seat to get your pants off.  It's no small stretch to see how our generation made BDSM more acceptable.  Yes, it was partly the music, but it was also the violent acts of removing the skinny legged jeans and tighter than tight Jordaches, Z Cavaricci's and Gloria Vanderbilts.  Then of course the Levi Button Fly 501's saved all the cool kids and we only had to teach our men how to adeptly rip open all 5 buttons at the correct angle.  You knew you had a guy who knew his away around if he could get that accomplished without getting stuck on a button!

Why am I on this old school clothing rant you ask?  Because I bought a new pair of jeans today.  They are a pair of Levi Low Rise Stretch Skinny Leg jeans.  I said when I saw them coming back in that there was no way in HELL I was ever getting back into a pair of those fucking jeans.  Been there, done that, ain't doin' again.  Weeeeellllllll, HOLY CRAP, I've done did it!  And I gotta tell ya, the Glory of Stretch is a goddamn MIRACLE!!!  No wiggling and wriggling, laying on the bed holding my breath to get them up over my ass.  No special foot contortion or even ankle zippers required.  And they came off without having to be peeled inside out!  AMAZING!

I don't pay full price for ANYTHING, especially clothes.  I bought these today at the AZ Trading Company along with the CUTEST Doc Marten calf boots that tie in the back and fit PERFECTLY over the new skinnies.  I am SO excited.  Wendy O Williams would think I looked hot enough to throw me an elbow!  And I could totally take it in these boots and jeans.  I am a happy almost 40 year old.  All I need now is a new pair of Chuck Taylors or Checkerboard Vans and Camp Shirt with shoulder pads and I'm 13 again.  All right.  That'd just be pathetic.  I'll stick with what I've got!  I'm feelin' totally tubular right now!  Can you see me throwin' up the rock fist???  :)

Hmmmmmmmm Owwwwwww

It's official.  I'm sick.  My head feels like it's trying to implode and explode at the exact same time.  I'm at home, on the couch with my three biggest admirers, Shovel, Scoop and Patti, and I get to whimper all I want.  I have this thing I do when I'm sick.  It's pathetic really.  I've done it since childhood when I used to have excruciating ear aches and my mom would blow cigarette smoke in my ear. Yeah, I know, I probably have second hand eardrum cancer from it, but it eased the pain and my mommy knew what she was doing.  Anyway, I would always hum when I had earaches.  A kind of way to scratch the insides of my ears using my vocal cords.  So now, if I don't feel well, people know, because I have begun to hum.  I can't even imagine how fucking annoying it must be to those around me to hear me "whine", because yessss, my humming sounds way more like whining than anything melodic.  But ya know what, I don't care. :(  I'm sick.  And it makes me feel better to audibly release the pain.  Crying just makes my head hurt worse.  So, ho hummmmmmmm.  I'm sick.

I am a racist.

I guess so.  Hell, if you use the word racist, it means you're racist, even if you're speaking against racism.  If we truly want racism to go away, we stop talking about it.  But I digress... 

Today, I'm guessing I'm racist, because I have decided that there is absolutely NOTHING cuter than little black girls with old school big ole plastic balls at the end of their braids.  I have a set of 4 year old twin girls, that have a 3 year old sister that makes it look like their triplets, living in the other half of my duplex.  They are the sweetest, happiest little girls I have ever met. 

This morning, when I'm cussing under my breath, because I'm late, it's raining, I have a sore throat, my ear hurts, etc., etc., etc., these three little girls turned my whole day around.  They were standing on their porch out of the rain.  They had their back packs on over their little rain coats and started bouncing up and down, waving, making their braids clack, yelling, "Good Morning!", "Hi!", "Where's your doggies?", "We're going to school today!  Are YOU going to school today?", "I like your motorcycle!  I saw one on tv just like it!  It's nice!", "You're nice!".  So many questions and absolute statements, so much excitement and joy.  How could I not feel like jumping up and down in the rain to respond to them all, which I most certainly did! 

They had come down two steps in their exuberance, so I told them they better get back up on the porch and stop getting wet and got in my car.  All the while we're all waving back and forth at each other, my window down in spite of the rain, telling each other to have a good day.  I think I will thanks to them and I hope they do too.  I love little black girls.  :)

Resentment, Anger and Fear

The IP from my Fellowship on the Triangle of Self-Obsession says resentment is how I react to the past, anger is how I deal with my present and fear is how I feel when I think about the future.  There have been soooo many times I've been hopelessly trapped in that fucking triangle, that I watch very carefully for any of the three sides to show their presence.  I am much quicker now to kick down the singular side before it has a chance to find a partner to form an angled corner I can't get out of.  I can pretty much run smack into it now and say, "WTF?  Get out of my way so I can keep moving forward.", instead of panicking and sitting down to hope somebody else comes in to get me out.  Does that make sense or am I being obtuse? ;)

Ouch

I just listened to the new Breaking Benjamin cd.  There is a song on it called Dear Agony.  It hurts to even listen to it, so why does it keep drawing me in?  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGrM1sh-8pE  Sadness and pain can be so comforting sometimes.  I think that's why I go back.  The "familiar pain" is better than the unknown.  The emotions this song brought up to me are so deep and so many.  The failures, the depression, the letting go of harm.  Wow.  How many times can a heart break?  How much does it take for a spirit to be broken?  I know it takes a fucking shitload of work to mend them both.  Who's got the glue?  Only me.

Box Therapy - Recycled and a Bit Reused

RECYCLED:  So this was something I wrote to a friend back in 2005: 

It is so strange how powerful boxes can be.  I just recently did some box therapy myself!

VERY Brief synopsis:
02/14/03   Quit my job of 7 yrs and left the Midwest for the first time in my entire life to move to L.A. with a male addict I had fallen madly in love with. He had 3 yrs clean, I had 5 yrs clean.
05/03   He relapses on heroin in LA the first week of May, overdoses the last week of May. After bringing him back from the dead, we decide that we need to go to his hometown in Montana, leaving most of my worldly belongings (furniture) in CA.
11/03   He starts using and abusing Methadone.
01/04   His parole is revoked and he goes back to prison.
02/07/04   I get back to KC with only what I can fit in my car, leaving my "pruned" keepsakes in Montana in storage.
05/04   Travel to Montana and bring back "the most important" things and put them in storage in KC.
02/05/05   Move back into my house, (that my renters had trashed) and finally have what's left of "me" all in one spot.

I was so excited to start opening up boxes, after not having any of my stuff for a year! The first box I opened had a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope on top. My "tools of the trade" of codependance that I used when he started abusing the Methadone. Memories of sitting on the side of the bed checking his vitals to make sure he was still alive paralyzed me right there amongst the boxes I had just moments before been elated to have. I went from joy, to fear, to anger, to a desperate sadness in a matter of moments. I found myself sitting on the floor bawling uncontrollably. I decided I didn't need ANY of that stuff. I didn't care WHAT was in there, I was taking it all out to the curb. I was going to shut the damn box, tape up the misery inside of it, take it to the curb and MOVE ON! I can get more stuff. Fuck it. Then it came to me that this was something I had to face. I had too many times in the past just closed up bad feelings in a box and said I didn't need to deal with it. I had suffered for not doing what needed to be done and then wondered why the hell I was still feeling the consequences years later. I decided that this time, I MUST open each and every box. Take out the individual pieces of me. Hold them in my hands. Feel them physically, emotionally, spiritually. Then and only then could I make the decisions on what was ready for the curb. What no longer had a purpose and what was still a part of me.

Then and only then was I able to finally put some closure on the past two years of my life.  I made it back to KC with my clean time and my life. Both incredible gifts and miracles. And now I've finally come to a point in my life where I can honestly keep what I need and leave the rest...

REUSED:  Present times....

I have moved three times since then and kept less and less "property" everytime.  I have lost my home to foreclosure in an eerily parallel relationship choice, accept no quitting of my job, no moving across the country with a dash of lieing and unfaithfulness thrown in.  I still have boxes to unpack, seen and unseen, but I do so with more dilligence, more faith and less fear.  I have survived repeated box therapy and use less tape than I used to, although I've suffered some scarring fucking cardboard cuts that hurt like hell.  I don't know that I'll ever get to the point in my life where there are no boxes that need opened or closed, but I know that as each year passes, the desperation for either circumstance subsides.  Life is packing and repacking.  I am o.k. with that today.  :)

Deceipt Genie

So, how bad is it that I kept hitting the snooze this morning until 7:30, when I'm supposed to be at work at 8 and it's a 20 minute drive?  How bad is it that in the span of time between 7:30 and 7:32, that I had scrolled down to my boss' number and was getting ready to call in to work with an absolutely FABULOUS story?  How bad is it that I had completely planned my day off and all of things I was going to get done at home in a brief yet massive amount of a few minutes of wakefulness? 

I didn't go to bed last night with visions of house organizing dancing in my head.  Matter of fact I don't recall WHAT the hell I was thinking about before I put my head on the pillow.  Nothing.  I'm pretty sure it was nothing, which is amazing considering my propensity to spin out in my mind endlessly before the Sandman finally hits me in the head with his Thor-like hammer designed especially for nights like those, when his whispers in my ear just make things worse. 

It amazes me that I can sometimes get stuck answering questions like, "what'd you do last night" and yet I can come up with some truly beautiful schemes when I don't want to do something, like go to work or go visit my parents.  Does that still stem from my step-dad putting me in the corner and telling me I couldn't come out until I came up with a good reason for doing whatever I did for my corner placement?  I think so, but I doubt that's all of it.  Hell, I'm still trying to figure out the "all of it".  What I do know for sure is that after years of trying "to practice these principles" in all of my affairs, is that I am now a TERRIBLE liar.  I can still come up with the good shit, but can very rarely pull it off.  Even if I do manage to get the lies out of my mouth, in 98.7% of cases I end up blurting out, "I'm sorry, that's a lie!".  What a lame ass!  And if I do pull off telling the lie, I don't even enjoy living the lie.  It's just no fun anymore. 

I no longer possess that "Deceipt Genie" in a bottle inside me that would run rampant when I'd give it the slightest rub.  The bottle is still there, but the fairy has flown the coop.  That's why MY answer to "how bad is it" that I thought up a grand get outta work free tale is:  Not that bad.  I literally yelled out loud, "GET UP!" and I'm here at work.  Right where I'm supposed to be.  Now it's time to get to it!  Have a great day and don't even touch that damn bottle!

Ack!

O.K.  So I was just walking back to my desk from out in the shop and ran smack into a damn shadow dude.  I hate these fuckers.  They make me pit out (that stinging twinge of sweat that pops out in your armpits when you get a real quick scare) every single time.  Now I gotta tell ya, they don't jump out NEARLY as often as they did when I first got clean.  I mean, I haven't had to pull the car over to check the backseat out since I had like 18 months.  They used to worry me.  Now, they just piss me off.  Of course, it could be that I'm in that "mood" today and the shadow dudes really do deserve to be told to Fuck Off.  But, if I actually TALKED to them, wouldn't THAT make me crazy????  There's levels of crazy and I'm no psych scholar but I'm preeeeeeety sure that talking to shadow dudes is WAY worse than seein' em run by naked.  Oh.  Did I forget to tell you they were naked?  Sorry.

Dangerous Playgrounds

So.  Hoe di do.  I am in a combative mood today.  Is that suprising you ask?  Well yeah actually, it is. 

It didn't used to be.  I'd wake up every morning pretty much ready to tell each and every stranger to "Fuck Off!".  Not that I ever really followed through with that, me being an old school people pleaser, but trust me, that's what was raging on the inside.  It would usually find it's way out and spew all over the people closest to me of course, lo siento mi compadres.  It's always been "a mood" that I could nestle my ass in and swing with. 

And yet, I have wandered away from that particular playground over the past year.  No more merry-go-rounds, no more slides, no more rides on the mood swings just because it felt so good just before I dropped from the top, no more senseless tangled up may poles for me thanks.  I have been on a different path.  Skipping you ask?  Oh no, not hardly.  I'm not much of a skipper, but thoughtfully plodding down the path of my life, trying to gently move the stones in my way instead of kicking them into the paths of others.

And yet today, I am standing at the fence with my hands clenched around the links and my face pressed so hard against it that the checkerboard pattern will definitely take a few days to dissipate.  I am ready to take a rock and hear the snap of my slingshot as I shoot one person in particular right smack in the head.  I will not do it.  I can not do it, because it's not who I truly am.  But ewwwwwwww, this darkness seems pretty damn comfortable right now.   Sometimes it's so hard not to scale the fence and play....