i'm_making_myself_angry_again anne-girl the dialogue I'm inventing in my head pulling hatred out of nothing dredging up pain I don't need inciting myself away from the happiness I had just a moment ago I don't know why I do this to myself ((I think it's better than no emotion at all anger's easier to maintain than happiness despair and pain are easier than contentedness no effort)) fume 040808 ... pete i feel all the eyes turn to me. all the eyes are inside of me. they talk about what could have been, what should have been, and what definitely had no right to even be thought. they dwell inside me, always arguing, and i leach away their pain and their anger. but slowly, oh so slowly, it is overwhelming me! so what do i do? i make some pasta. chicken mushroom pasta, from scratch of course. no other way to cook for oneself. so i sit out side on my porch, the bathroom light shinning out from behind me, the bunny content in its backyard buffet, the neighbour's daughter, 16 or 17, having a party next door, a beer on one side of my chair, ice tea on the other, and a joint in hand as i try to eat and read my novel at the same time. all the while letting the anger flow into the night sky, to cassanopea, that giant "W" or "M" in the sky. Why I've taken it as my own, I don't know. I've never done such a thing before. But it hangs over Old Ottawa South as if telling me that there be dragons. There be friends. 040809 what's it to you? who go blather from