Undone
I still think about it, even now. It's all I have, really. With no end to the dry spell in sight, it intrudes into my thought process more and more often. I don't want to think about it, and I don't want to want to think about it, but it just comes. Sometimes it's little things that bring it on, like poems or proximity. Sometimes it's incalculable frustration. Sometimes it's nothing at all.
I don't know that I'll ever lose the anger I have. While having my sandwich prepared at Raley's one day by the oddly named, exceptionally tall, and rather attractive Grace (oddly named I say because how many women born after 1970 are named Grace?), a conversation began and as a result of what was said, I noticed something. I'm not as angry as I used to be. I'm not as bitter. C'est la vie is more of a mantra now for me than ever before. But that... I'm afraid I'll always be angry about that. Not fervid alizarin, but a dull, muted maroon. Every time it comes up, my heart beats an extra time and my left eye half closes. I'm not sure that will ever change.
I don't know that I'll ever lose the anger I have. While having my sandwich prepared at Raley's one day by the oddly named, exceptionally tall, and rather attractive Grace (oddly named I say because how many women born after 1970 are named Grace?), a conversation began and as a result of what was said, I noticed something. I'm not as angry as I used to be. I'm not as bitter. C'est la vie is more of a mantra now for me than ever before. But that... I'm afraid I'll always be angry about that. Not fervid alizarin, but a dull, muted maroon. Every time it comes up, my heart beats an extra time and my left eye half closes. I'm not sure that will ever change.