Here we go.
I have angry dreams, then wake up angry at myself for having them. I think the last thing Dream-Self said before I woke up was, "...and you're lucky I don't rip your fucking face off." Then I do that thing where you jump in a threatening way at a person, so they'll flinch. I'm playing the bully to feel more in control over things I have no control over. Psycho-babble, be damned! I was also carrying a small red hula-hoop, the kind circus performers spin on their arms or toss to each other from unicycles on tightropes. We were in a parking lot, but then, a bathroom. I know I have the right to be angry, I just wish I weren't. It takes too much energy. It steals my sleep. It leaves me hungry.
I'm so disapointed in marriage, in life. It's not enough to have the will to grow or, worse, the ambiguous word, work, for success. It's not enough to even the scale, admit you've faults, forgive others, move on. It doesn't work. It's not even that I thought being married was sacred, because, what is, really? I thought we had 'something', that common ground we could find after the most bizarre of circumstance.
If the world is an unblazed trail, you and I were supposed to be The Clearing, a place to return to during a flood, famine, a fire. It's my understanding that everyone will experience these tragedies in a lifetime, but finding ourselves together, back where the path is cleared, the canopy is thick and shielding, is why we even attempt to hack our way through. It's not supposed to matter, that other shit, because there is always you and me.
I'm riding a bike for the first time. I look behind me and my mother has let go. No net.
This is life.
'Never start up, no need to quit.'
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