Oh, I was in the @%$&# desert! Where the hell were you?
When do I get to outgrow this excuse? It's such a crock. I abhor feeling it.
Self-righteous vitriol. Personal pontification poison. Venom that I spit onto the world to defend my moments of weaknesses and my character flaws.
When do all the explosions and gunfire and mortar attacks I wish hit their intended target go away? Why didn't both locations of "the war" mean anything?
When does the damage of a your-everything partner leaving you alone in a situation like that go away? Why did my wife leave me?
How do you "get better"? How do you heal? Somebody say time. What a bullshit bandage.
When does life make sense again? Is this what it is to be an adult?
I am doing what I need to do to be successful in life... college degree, apartment of materialistic greatness, trendy vehicle, rapid progression through karate and MMA, awesome cell phone plan, IDPA training, bootcut jeans, readying for a marathon, and a roll of duct tape (just in case).
Anybody else feel like this? I don't want to feel this excuse anymore.
There are no good excuses. Only reasons; motivators... things to embrace.
This isn't a motivator. This is my wound, my great internal burden.
I need to lance this boil. Truth and reality and time don't seem to help.
"It's not fair." I know it's not fair. Fair is a dead kid on the side of the road. Fair is 18 hours of driving in 120 degrees while wearing a Kevlar sweater.
I wish I could be religious.