Crying and Everybody Gets One

Sometimes I feel like all the tears I did not get to cry from the age where my memory starts in patches, five and sometimes six, to where it starts to form a continuous timeline, ten and on, are coming now.  Balancing books and things.  I've been thinking about it somewhat hard nosed and what I came to was, especially given what came down the pipe at twenty, I'd rather have them now than not at all.  

Playing emotional catch up.  

I'd rather be emo now, however, than be emo at age fifty (assuming I can make it to fifty iterations.  that's a pretty tall order, nah mean?).  Part of what I was taught, in writing classes that were worth their weight in gold when they weren't taught by tenured dick faces and holier than though masters ph.d cock tip cum nuggets whom I would still like to punch in the craw and who prevent me from going back to the English department because I will try to strangle them with their own belt, was that you have to exorcise the junk first and everything else will come with time.

That's what she said.  Still, there's some merit to that.  Problem is I have junk for years.  When did everything turn into a fifteen year plan?

Anyway, when I'm rich and famous I'm going to work out my short list of simple assaults.  When I'm set for life I'll start chipping into my kill list.  First things first.  Gotta lay down the work first.  Get the junk out of the way.  Everything else will come in due time.  I can abide by that principle.  The hard part is not letting other people jump your gun.

///Vangelis - "One More Kiss Dear"