Mission Aborted

        Not my proudest moment–

        The only reason I am not sucking down Scotch right this very moment is because I accidentally left my wallet at someone’s house and by some weird happenstance I have no cash in my apartment right now except for a jelly jar full of pennies. 

        So frustrated I could scream.  Maybe I will.

        I had plans for this evening.  Big plans!  I was going to engage in some very intense and potentially dangerous recreational activity–a big blowout, the sort of thing I only do maybe twice per year.  It takes a lot of luck and coordination to get something like this off the ground, and as everything starts to slide into place–well, it creates a lot of inner tension.  Even for an aberration like myself, who is comparatively fearless about things like this.  Takes a while to screw your courage to the sticking place.  But it’s a pleasant anticipation–makes you feel breathless and aggressive.  Ready to rock.

      So, I’m riding high: got the right invitation, got the invitation confirmed, got the right clothes, got the gear, got a promising date–a gorgeous mutt from the fire department, no joke, who rides around town on a rice rocket and seemed downright giddy about embarking on a destructive bender–got a car service to run us out to the scene of the crime in Westchester.  By the time I arrived, I was practically chewing the furniture.

       …AND THEN IT ALL FELL APART 


      I felt like Comrade Castro at the Bay of Pigs, man–fuck you, what do you mean, you’re calling it off…?!  You’re not calling off shit!


       But they were, indeed, calling it off, and there was nothing anyone could do.  I was left with about a metric ton of combustible energy coursing through my body and nothing to do with it.  I couldn’t even maul the firefighter.  I know I’m being opaque here, good reader, but trust me, this was way more than canceled-date “I did my nails and put on pantyhose for this?” inconvenience.

      And then, again, I am left with the immortal question: what do I do?  What do you do when you are burning from the inside out, and you can’t turn it off?  What do you do when you can’t calm down?  When the intensity, the urgency of your emotions feels lethal to you?  When you don’t know how to soothe yourself?  

      The energy, thwarted at one outlet, attempts to relieve itself through another–it is murder, destruction, the relentless urge to annihilate.  I just want to shut it off.  Channeled appropriately, it manifests as talent.  Otherwise, it lends itself to killing and suicide. 

       It is a choice, I am told.  Even when it doesn’t feel that way. 


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