Saturday, August 11, 2018

Sotto ranting in the dark

I'd lapsed into a sotto rant---quiet because it's night and people are in bed but with the same intensity of yelling and boiled up anger. I hissed and spat as my right hand flexed for an object to fight with. I'd had a lapse back into childhood hurt at being a whipping boy for narcissists and had to ebb off the rage. 

So I stopped, aware I was pacing in the dim red of the single shrouded lamp lit in the front end of the house and the boiling fury was not helping. Then I kvetched here where it's healthy to do so since one is dead and the other may as well be.

It's fucked having a life wracked by a fucked, twisted wreck of a body that was effectively neutered by its potato shape and like-agility who was judged for being that way on purpose---because I self-deformed in utero with my magical powers.

I'm halfway dead and still smarting from the first level.

Then I remember without all of that I couldn't have done what I did and what I did was monstrously important; my tuber body and sad mind did that and couldn't have without it.

But a hunchback doesn't thank the hunch even if it gives them cred because to be hunched is fucked and painful.

I do have a disability parking permit though so that's something.

Soft ranting in the dark; let's hear a pop song about that. 

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