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I was writing tonight (a distinct departure from my activities most nights) and, in writing about an early childhood experience, I found that I was defending my mother in the actions that she took. When I realized this, I started to feel anger… and this anger began to increase, and it kept increasing even as I continued to write. My writing grew more rapid and pointed and more difficult to read until finally I wrote this:

Immediately upon writing this, I felt deep sorrow and just went with it… and then I began to see how this thread runs throughout my life and just about everybody I’ve been close to.

And lately, I’ve been doing just about everything but the most obvious thing, in just about all of the areas I want to address.

Now, being 29 and having been in FDR for over a year now, that’s mea culpa. It’s not like this is a unique revelation to myself, but it’s just about the first time in my life that it has ever become anything remotely approaching emotional relevance for me…

Thanks for reading.