Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Road rage in a tin cage

Being riven with a host of life-enriching disabilities means I get to enjoy things like mental torment. It's okay, it's not a fail—in truth it's a dark blessing. But a dark blessing when times are good, when bad it's just dark.

So I was due for a car yell. Maybe it's primal scream therapy or something but I just start talking and talking then yelling until my throat's sore. The emotion bleed is acute—you're drained and sag bag in your seat. 

Talking alone in the car is something I've always done. Whenever I'd have to do public speaking or had an upcoming interview I'd practice on drives to and from work. Or if I was angry I'd talk it out. 

I guess it's kind of akin to a steam whistle trilling off pressure

I had my throat-scorching yell then feebly reached for the one third full water bottle from a weekend McLarge something slotted in the side passenger door with my Tyrion-esque arms and failed. 

I drove in silence for a bit, played some music, paused, talked, music, talked and felt better by the time I got home. 

Super powers come with super un-powers. Sure, it's a dark patch now, but there's always light ahead.


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