Friday, June 29, 2018

Bus sads

The trouble with a bus ride home is that you have time to think. I'd had a convo about unpleasant work life then caught the bus. I sat and thought of that then childhood crap and started crying. 

Not hulking sobs, stone face with tears trickling. I didn't hide it nor did anyone pay it mind. I didn't make a sound, I just leaked. As if I was over-full and water pressure demanded a release. 

I stopped midway. I debriefed when I got home and discussed the way ahead then headed off to decompress.

It's been an epic year. I've landed where I needed to and I'm getting to work on my chosen nightmare. 

Epic year; epic emotion. We come back to the leak; there was pressure and I released it as tears down a grizzled, bearded cheek. 

I wouldn't change anything that happened because it happened for other things to happen. But you can still be royally pissed at what you went through, as a child, teen and adult. You just hope the first two don't do a number on the third and you can get to the fourth stage—death—with a life well-lived. 

I've already won my life; everything now is gravy. But, fuck me, that is some delicious fucking gravy.

WFTW.

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