I can't help but think that some people ask for their own hurting.
I've been trying to write my feelings on this, several ways now, and I just can't get it out. Except to say that we, as humans, are almost always our own cause of misery. Self-inflicted depression, we darken our days black, the color of our own choice, and then feign innocence about the whole deal.
Why don't you just drive?
I went to Whitby two days in a row. Whitby, for me now is just another city an hour or so away. I was raised in the city, but really, very few ties there remain. Some of those include a dentist, a smattering of relatives and a few close school-friends. Every once in awhile I make the drive down the highway, and like today, cannot get over how it feels to make that lazy, quiet drive. And I mean quiet in that turn-up-the-radio-all-the-way-and-sing-until-your-lungs-burn kind of way. I loved every second of that drive there and back x2. I can't wait to do it again.
Pain is inevitable.
After almost 2 months a new basketball season begins. And talk about self-infliction: I am going to die. I went for a quick twenty minute walk last night to prep, and my thighs hurt this morning. Simply pathetic.
Yes, I am a liar.
Okay, I haven't lied exactly, but I am omitting the truth. My shady ethics remind me that this may be just as bad. I've got a night off this Wednesday night. I'm not going to tell my parents, rather, let them just take Kole for the evening. I am going to continue with the regular program of dressing in my all-black uniform, dropping Kole off there and tucking her in, and then park in my usual spot by work. But instead of walking through the front doors I'll take a short detour to the bar across the road. I will go and get a beer, hook up with my usual gang, and dance my ass off to music from the 80s. I may be hung over the next day and smell like old cigarettes and beer, but it will be worth it. Worth it all.