Tonight I have to do something I don't want to. I have to put myself in an environment that could very well crush my spirit into a little ball. But, I have to do it. I have to be tough and just get through the pain.
Six hours out, I am not dreading this experience. But, as I get closer, I'm worried that the dread will turn my synapses into sand. Every thought will chafe and irritate and take me away from the path.
Writing publicly seems to be a way to make me feel a little bit better, and a little less humiliated about the way things are in this part of 2009. I've spared the public most of the details, and I will continue to do so.
I want to be consistent and be the same person every day. But I'm still grieving, and the process is not a predictable one. I may end up writing more about this later on tonight.
Striking down the mundane and dastardly while retaining a certain obscure turn of phrase, denoting something elusive yet concrete.
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