If you don't want to bleed for it, don't put it in your blood.
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I had a terrifying thought, this morning, on the way to work: I'm afraid I might be a duplicitous man. Duplicitous. I used to think that described a man who had lots of love affairs. Would that it were true. But, driving out to campus, I really questioned what I, up until this morning, had believed was my emotional and physical elasticity when in the face of any crisis. Now, I wonder: what if all I've done is misunderstood what I thought was others' general defection of accountability because I'd mislabeled it in my own life? I hate this thought. I've hated it all...
The monsters in my mouth.
I'm no prude, but violence in any form shocks me. (I'm rather hoping that's a universal statement). But, and here's where we may differ, my response to it is to laugh. Maybe it's a nervous habit, maybe I think it's a deflection on my part to make it less real. I don't know why I do it, but I laugh. And loudly. See, what you might not know about me is that I am the world's most foremost expert at inappropriate laughter. It just seems easier to laugh at everything, for me. I get tired of crying. (Though, I've done my share of that,...
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