My wife’s Bob’s Burger is my Shin Chin.

Momentum of my fight leads me to the precipice of my flight. Sometimes I lose my senses and feel numb to the consequences of my actions, other times I am willing to stand against the ocean even as its currents wash me down into the depths with no safe return. Writing will forever be my therapy because drugs last only so long and fight loses its edge eventually.  The baseline is where my sanity is kept; it rules the flavor of the day: am I cookie dough or raspberry swirl? Accessories to my sundae, could they be rainbow sprinkles or Armageddon emotional fudge (dark and cold as it lays waste to all positivity)?

I feel the pit today, the biter crunchy poisonous peach pit of despair. Mind you despair is a cheap emotion like pity it’s on every street corner, peddled by every personal emotional exchange but whimsy just as cheap is something you have to search for but unexpectedly find. How bad can you feel when whimsy happens at your door?  My observation is that I have never seen an unhappy three legged dog, but I’ve seen many angry abled bodied men.

I lost a fight yesterday, not with some giant evil just an inner demon. The chip that had left my shoulder returned. I blame fatigue. I did nothing wrong, I just let my passion fizzle.  I just have not had the energy of late. I am a deposed martyr. My will is gone. Merely for this one cause, life in general is great. I’m upbeat because I’ve got a positive rolling average.

Nothing really shocks your system like ten minutes of Happy Tree Friends…never again…oh please never again…but down in the darkness of my soul it calls to me…and I shudder…