Personal Journal

Angry Chair

I'm sober today, well perhaps not. I'm so angry, perhaps this doesn't count as sobriety.

I'm angry that I've smoked SO MUCH DOPE that I finally looked at myself and saw something pathetic and dispicable. But I'm an addict, and today is a new day, and I'm going to be sober today, and I suspect, I'm going to get a good roll going.

I'm angry now that Jean died. Burning with rage that this bullshit happened. If there was someone to blame, today I would kill them. Because what he did to Jean was NOT right, and it deserves death as repayment.

I'm angry at society, for putting commercials on the air about taking care of senior citizens who lose their spouse. What about young people who do?

I'm angry at the commercials for new cancer drugs that saved people. Because Jean could not be saved.

I'm angry that that fucking PRICK Tom prevented me from making Jean my wife, because most people will never understand how much intimacy we shared.

I'm angry at what's missing in my life - my best friend, because if I ever needed someone to talk to, it's today.

I'm angry that there is no one to hurt in my world because I want someone to suffer as I suffer, and I want someone to die like Jean died - unfairly. And I want to do it with my own hands.

I wish god would show himself, because I'd like to go a few rounds with him, and I know I would lose, but I know I could get one clean punch in, and as I lay defeated, I could at least comfort myself on that one hit, saying "Take that you son of a bitch"

Instead, here I lay.

Defeated.

From Simon and Garfunkel, something I remembered writing this:

From their song "The Boxer":

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
’til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains
Yes he still remains