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03/20/2003 Entry: ""Brutally Honest Big Bangs""
Not all big bangs are good. This morning ( by now I'm sick of telling this story ) my car was hit on my way into work. The other gentleman made an illegal pass on the right, and hit me pretty hard. I'm still physically shaken up, and the car will need serios body work. Suppose I will, too. He appears to be disputing my claim, and even though I've got witnesses three, I'm worried about the outcome. I have to have a fully functioning, safe car by April 1 when I start using it to transport my clients to their work sites. If my claim is denied, we're talking a thousand bucks of work to get the frame back in shape, the axel stright and the door to open, out of my holey and radically inadequate pocket.
Now I'm in plays almost every other month, and that drama is fine and dandy. But this kind of drama I can't stand, and there's been such a run of B*S lately that I'm beginning to wear down. I can put a positive spin on just about anything, but right now I'm just feeling out of wind and out of the creative starshine that I use to conjure up sparkle on my most dismal of days. I'm tired. I have so much to let off my chest, and as is typical of the species I want to retain some stupid stoicism and not show my wounds or huff and puff and be the wet blanket.
Maybe this here, typing to the blog from a borrowed computer older than Moses, is a kind of "psychic bloodletting" that might begin the process of breaking this damn dam inside and letting my floodwaters wash out. I could've posted what I ate for lunch today, or something witty about someone's ass, or as is typical some metaphoric spiritual paradigmatically relative thing, but here I am quite honestly in the dumps, moping over the maze I have to run to retain my human exterior, feeling far away from the verdant joy that's bursting out all over on this, the first day of spring.
I know that this will not last long. I know that like the tulips and the hyacinths I'll poke my head out of this cool wet grime to face the sun and will bloom into it. I know, as George Harrison sang, that "all things must pass." Even this, even that, in the scheme of things it's inconsequential. But right now my world is revolving in a wobbly way, reeling from this and that.
That's honest, and maybe that's what this whole blogging thing is all about.
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