Tuesday, July 12, 2005

My chest hurts.

I have been angry all evening. For what reason I couldn't tell you. It seems so blind. I keep telling invisible people, gods, nature to make it go away. Atticus was crying in his crib and I went in there frustrated and angry. I looked at him crying and I got really scared. There are times when I have gotten angry in front of him and it freaks me out. When I look at him I wonder if he sees that and will mimic it later. I started to mimic it and then it grew inside of me a lot like my cancer and now it's seems like its fused to my life and head that even though it doesn't always poke its head out it's there, like that person who always hangs around but never leaves because you are scared of him, or maybe scared of losing him. Maybe it isn't even real. There are images in my head that I see after I get angry, images I saw when I was a kid, real people I saw when I was a kid. I held Atticus tonight and cried and said make it stop, take theme away, make it stop, i don't want to see it anymore.

Growing up, I became the person that was the opposite of all that, at least tried to. I tried to run away from violence and anger and frustration. I understand the anger, I mean, I understand where it came from for certain people. I can never understand the manifestation of violence. It is in me likle a bad gene waiting to be recessive or become part of my future. It ssits there eyeing me. I eye it back and we are locked in each other's gaze. I reacted to the violence the only way I knew how, by being a different person. There are people who have told me that anger is not a bad thing. It is necessary. It's how you get angry that defines you. I want to believe that. I know I have touched in this topic before in these pages.

I'll leave it at that. I had more to say but I deleted it. It sounded cheesy.

I saw one of my dearest friends this weekend. If we're lucky we get to see each other once maybe twice (usually once) a year and at the end of ever visit I find myself starting to cry and by the time I get in the car I end up doing so. I miss her. She got to see Atticus and Gabrielle and my wife told me in the car on the way home how neither of us says much to each other, that we don't need to. We can communicate through feeling and knowledge of each other. We can sit there drinking coffee trying not to think about the impending departure. At least that's how she saw it and that's how I feel it.

My friend during our visit was telling me how this blog of mine is...very intimate.

I am mentally humming the Sufjan Stevens song Casmir Pulaski in my head. He's doing an album for each of the fifty states. He's on Illinois. I need to make dinner. The house is quiet and the dogs are laying on the kitchen floor. Our cat is mad at me for pushing her away whie she was licking my hand.

I am going to paint after making dinner and make phone calls and not think about the ants in our kitchen.

I am also thinking of the movie Spring Forward with Liev Shreiber and Ned Beatty. I gave it to a good friend for his 30th birthday. If you have a free evening, check it out.

See, I recommended a movie. This blog isn't that intense.


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