Awake

It's called a Stream of Consciousness. It's Therapeutic.

Had I realized that the bandages I took out of a purse not used since 2006 would soon be revealed as a sort of symbolic foreshadowing to the act of ripping a nearly-year-old bandage off of my apparently still bleeding heart, I would have never opened that envelop. Why that envelop was purposed for such self-inflicted time-lapsed wounding is quite beyond me at the moment, but I am certainly thankful that at the time I did open it, aka, 10 minutes ago (its contents sending a shock wave through my soul, knocking me backward against the kitchen counter like a kick in the gut, a punch in the face) I had a working shredder ready and waiting to dispose of the lies, lies, and more lies told in the contents therein. The author of the lies, lies, and more lies actually was not aware of the face that he was writing lies, lies, and more lies, but even so there they were, in that unassuming envelop, kept by me, my own worst enemy.

Word of advice. When you get dumped. Burn it. Burn it all. Dispose of every scrap of sentimental meaningless dribble you can get your hands on. Then burn it again. Then bury the fire and walk away. There are many public beaches where this is a viable option. If you are landlocked, you have my geographical sympathy. As an alternative, you should unceremoniously shred the sentimental meaningless dribble. A year later. This is Plan B. (You should really go with Plan A. Trust me.)

It's better that I tell you this instead of making you look at pictures of ducks from the pond next door. Hiding behind a lens is well and good, and pretty neat actually, but if I don't eradicate this root soon, it will wedge itself into the very fabric of my still bleeding heart and I just won't heal properly. So excuse the mess, pardon the attitude, and don't worry. It's all just a journey. And sometimes on that journey you get captured by a band of Orcs and Uruk-hai and have to crawl on the ground into the forest to get away, only to be picked up by a talking tree who just won't shut up. True story.

Happy Wednesday.