For a while, I have been writing two very long entries. They sit in my home directory, where they get opened, edited, added to, changed a little, and then saved only to wait a while before I look at them again. Now they are close to completion, but editing them has been hard because it involves my father and it’s hard to speak of my father without spinning into some tirade not related to the topic I started with, like the fact that he never got our air conditioner fixed, and it leaked so badly it flooded the laundry room every summer, and that was next to my room, and the mildew probably led to my weakening asthma which I never got treated for because he didn’t believe in doctors... oops.
Okay, I did that on purpose for a cheap laugh, but seriously, a lot of my writing with him does that, which is why some entries have to stew and get reviewed later, so I can chop the irrelevant bits out. “Dear God, am I still sore about the fact he never taught me how to ride a bicycle, when I am discussing his yacht? That bit’s getting snipped...”
Buddy, though, both entries full of poison, and while I can’t have sugar, it sure feels good to let the demons escape. When truth has been burning in your belly for so long, it’s very cathartic to give it one last blast of remaining fuel before you snuff the fire.