Writing that last post was scary and thrilling. In some ways, I blew things out of proportion. I had felt angry at the time, but once the immediate situation passed, so did that emotion. So why was it so prevalent just a single post ago?
Cause I wanted it to be. Before that, I had never really expressed anger. Writing it was addictive, almost euphoric. There was an elation that I felt inside me as my fingers became cold and tingly that made me want to keep writing. To have the words and feelings rush together and flourish, to expand and develop hate and malice…it was foreign to me. When the situation was over I had felt no spite, no anger, I just wanted the situation to be over and done with. And not too long ago there I was, feeding it to see what it’d do.
So there you have it. That’s what you get. Drink up while you can, because it might be the only opportunity you have. Chances are, I’ll have buried the hatchet with my inner self by tomorrow morning. The only problem is that though the hatchet is buried, I can only put so much dirt on it myself. To keep it from being used again, I need someone else’s help. I need the help of the person who used it with me, to bury it so deep that it’ll never again see the light of day.
My fingers are cool. Not nervous cold, just cool. It’s a nice feeling. So this is what it takes to bring me out of my school-imposed posting hiatus.