Something miraculous happened and it had sparked enough thought to write the first blog since forever. The soul is an elaborate scheme of illusions. None so obsessive as the masks of bondage. You can take a good soul and make turn it rotten and bitter. You can take a bad soul and purify it with rebirth. And all this time I was floating around feeling this tremendous weight with all of the situations that just would never change.
A couple of weeks ago, I developed feelings for somebody else and it makes me wonder about the soul I gave away. You cannot be truly without a soul if you can have them feelings. Can you? These feelings define what a soul is. They weave together in awkward patterns with the strength of steel. It's like god. Who gives a shit about who god is so long as everything remains? We become so worried about the right that we forget to be righteous. We get lost in the actual and become actually lost.
These feelings will go unrequited. Of this, I am almost sure. But it is just a relief not to be so strangulated by the heartless actions of certain nameless bitches. I believe that this person cares about me regardless of the fact that I am a good writer. She doesn't message me up about stupid, selfish bullshit. She is superior to that skank in every conceivable way. Spiritually, I think she has us all beat. A delicate... almost fragile... creature who loves regardless with all of her warmth. You have helped me see that this world isn't all negative shit. And for that; I thank you. So here is what I say to the bitch who stole my soul. Take all that I was then. I don't want it anymore.
I was just in the bathroom throwing up. Maybe it was because I went so long without eating and I ate too much tonight. But I think it was because I just couldn't stop thinking about a few things. WARNING: This blog is going to be very graphic and downright disgusting. If you want to maintain a positive perspective of Smiles Goodsense... you might not want to read this. Because I can count on one hand the people who know this about me. I have only told five people. And now I am just going to let it out so that the world knows.
I was sitting here thinking to myself about a recent apology that I had unsuccessfully tried to make. The complexities of it all. Everybody was looking at me as though I was trying to make the apology for my own selfish agenda. And who could blame them for being right? I don't want the burden anymore. But I suppose it will follow me for the better part of this eternity. Because out of all the things in this world... I regret hurting you most of all. And I will get into why in just a minute.
I keep going back to this nightmare. Waking up thinking about that day. I was around the age of seven at the time. I didn't know much about life. And what I did know came in the form of a fist. The weekend earlier, my oldest brother told my grandmother a lie about how I had supposedly wished her dead. A tremendously psychotic woman. She would normally, for no particular reason, beat the living shit out of me and scream in my face. About how I was the worst child she had ever seen. About how my mother was a whore. About how nobody was coming to save me. "Shut up!" She would drown out my cries for help. "Or I will give you something to cry about!" This is not an excuse. This aftertaste of morbid self-hatred would follow me into my young adulthood. But I will never forget that weekend of her relentless beatings or what I did in the following week.
This is not an excuse. This is the moment I realized how awful I could be. I wanted to know the power she felt. Abuse, I believe, is a cycle. I want so badly for that cycle to end with me. But alas it can't. There were these pitbull puppies nursing on their mother. I grabbed one of them. Its eyes were barely opened. I stroked it and held it closely. Here is a creature that will never know what it feels like to be loved. I think I have been cursed because it will never know what it is like... because of me. I started dropkicking it. I can still hear it squealing in my nightmares. At times, I would stop hitting it and kicking it to show love to the other puppies. But this scapegoat hadn't felt all I wanted it to. At this point, I was blinded by the rage that I had felt toward my grandmother and the guilt that I had felt for not being her favorite. Try telling a seven-year-old that it is not their fault. The puppy went into seizures. I had no idea that it was in the process of a long, agonizing death. Counting the minutes until it would be no more.
I started freaking out. I didn't want to seriously hurt this dog. As stupid as that seems to me as an adult, I know it is true. I just wanted something in this world to feel my pain. I called my brother in and hoped like hell that he would know what to do. But we were just kids. We didn't grasp the gravity of the situation. I didn't learn until later that night that the puppy just wasn't strong enough. It had passed away. I ran into the woods and cried uncontrolably for hours at the evil I was capable of. I knew that a piece of that bitch would ALWAYS be a part of me.
Hate me for this and I won't blame you. I have hated myself for a long time. I will now revisit the beginning of this blog. Because there was a second dream that is reoccuring. One that comforted me. I find that the ones that comfort you are often the same ones that most easily destroy you. I would like to tell you that I was strong enough as a child to make it through all of the torment. But there was nothing to grasp onto. I had blocked most of it out until I hit junior high. It came flooding back to me and I once again internalized it all. Hurting Raven is the biggest regret that I have ever had. And the reason why... is because in this second dream she visited me by the toy box I often hid by. It is the same toy box I had my first suicidal thought by. She was only a few years older than me. And then she looked past my morbid imperfections and she gave me a hug. Whispered in my ear that everything was going to be all right.
I wonder now about that dream. How was everything all right? I had brought tears to her eyes. I had shown her my darkness. Somebody said in a bulletin I read not too long ago that when you break a woman's heart; it stays broken forever. And I believe that may be true. She used to write poems about how much I meant to her. She might not have been the greatest writer ever, but I knew she had put a lot of thought and a lot of emotion into everything she had written for me. Imagine giving that much for somebody only to have them go in and critique it all. "Hey, you spelt this wrong." I was a perfectionist who saw a lot of potential in her. Just pushing trying to make her the best that she could be. But why? Why isn't the person, the emotion, and the general philosophy good enough to be appreciated?
A lot of people took my side over hers. I believed that these people were wrong. Every last one of them. Even my sister, Tayler... who I love more than anything. I had broken her heart long before she had broken mine. I had treated her like an expendable piece of garbage on more than one occasion. I had slammed the door on her. It was a misunderstanding. She drove away confused and hurt. I know she cried. But all I could think about as I was rejecting her phone call was about the second chance that she would inevitably give me. The endless supply of second chances we give the ones we love. But loving me was poison. I guess there aren't enough words to express how sorry I am. I believe I have learned a lesson throughout this life.
For the life and for the love one should never rely on a second chance. The puppy didn't get one. And I don't believe I deserved one either.
There are a few thoughts this morning that I really want to elaborate on. Because if I don't elaborate on this shit... perhaps some of it might continue to come back and kick me in the ass.
First I am going to start on a lighter note. The starvation of millions of children. There was a thought I had this morning as I was waking up that irritated the hell out of me. You have this celestial rock that predates any species living or otherwise. Civilizations of people have developed elaborate calendars just by watching the way she moves. Some have even worshiped her. And can you blame them? WHAT A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT! When the moon emerges from a fine earthly mist of fog untainted by the mundane. But then this Armstrong cocksucker is born, lands on it, conquers it in the name of science, and fucks up the line that he was probably rehearsing for months. What is science without philosophy? What is anything without philosophy? Because now it barely even matters that we were there. God bless America! Ruined what could have been the second greatest moment in history. The first, of course, is when Jesus got nailed to the cross. Then again, religious nuts ruined that one for me. You people are just a bunch of ruiners! If children are starving in your country and you still want to waste a great deal of money... at least don't spoil your key fucking moment!!! He might as well have said "I'm coo coo for coacoa puffs." At least then he would have raked in enough in advertisement for us to forgive the son of a bitch.
Anyways. So I was thinking last night about what I wanted out of life. I must say that it is the first time I have done that since I was a child. It was never what I could get out of life. Simply what I had to offer. I realized that this whole writing thing hasn't been my desire for a very long time. It is simply the only thing I am to most people. I sometimes think I wouldn't have made so many friends. Wouldn't have been noticed much in high school. Wouldn't be much of anything without the pen. "This is your claim to immortality, Smiles!" And yes! I have worked so fucking hard on this shit that if I received a national publishing deal tomorrow it wouldn't shock me. I have paid more dues than practically anybody my age.
So this is more than just a tiny problem. Guess I have to work on this. Every fucking line I put out there is a product of an internal and external pain. If ever I come up with anything that I didn't have to suffer to create... I will fucking tear the shit to shreds! But it is destroying me. I'm not in love with the idea of being a writer anymore. I just know that I can't give it up. A low point happened this past week. It seems like my bones are made out of glass sometimes. And in order to get to sleep to escape the misery, I popped an unknown amount of pills. They fucked with my mind because I have a severe chemical imbalance. So I typed up a message that was barely even legible to a few of my friends on here. Said I was going to take all my shit out to the burn pile, take some more pills, and hopefully sleep for an extended period of time. Maybe wake up with a clear mind about what I am supposed to be doing. The Delightfully Dirty Dina, who is more like family than most of the people I share blood with, messaged me back and said "I'll let you destroy your work, but I won't let you destroy yourself."
Destroy yourself? Here is the fool. Why does he keep going off the cliff to his impending doom? Perhaps a lack of choices. If you turn around you are going to get scortched by the blazing sun. Through me I assure you, Child, that in Hell it will be better to fall while walking than to just stand still. This is what happens as the hourglass falls at the same rate as the sand. Life seems to stand still as it is moving most fast. I haven't had a reason to keep going for the longest time. There is nobody I really want to impress. The idea of monetary compensation seems like poison to me. In the future, art and entertainment will be free to anybody who wants it. AND THAT IS THE WAY IT SHOULD BE! A little piece of every artist dies when they put a dollar sign on their work. And I could go to any bar in this country... flash my book... and probably pick up the best looking girl in the place. With the way women look at me, I would be almost shocked if it didn't work. But I haven't had the desire to do that either. My heart has been in Limbo for a very long time now. The fool, I think, is just looking for one reason. Just one meaning to the life he lives. Something to look back upon and make it all worth it.
I see now the reflections of distain and must accept the fact that the soul holder will neither forgive it nor set it free. Life, as I see it, must be a mixture of grief and hope. Grief from loss... and hope from what is yet to be gained. So here goes,
-I hope within hope that certain lost souls find their way. Not mine, of course. Smiles can't be the savior that he wants to be. When I look at Jesus on the cross and I commit the sin of envy... I know he died for nothing. Are there just a few people in this world who you would make that sacrifice for? If not... there really is no reason to continue life. My sister, Tayler, is a lost soul at times and I would multiply the injuries of Christ by ten to steer her right into realms without any pain or sadness. I would multiply the injuries of Christ by ten and expect nothing in return. I sometimes think that every ounce of gratitude you show this meaningless gesture has somehow made it worth it.
-I grieve within grief that there may never be that moment in time when I can jump in front of that bullet for the people that I care about. Just the fucking opportunity is all I want!
-I hope and grieve at the last time for the unsettled nature of this purgatory. Past is past and the scars remind. Present is here and open for interpretation. And future? The future is death. No matter how much shit you rely on between that time. The most vibrant life in this world is nothing more than a perpetual state of dying. I hope that love is more important than title, formality, and the obligation of that love. I hope that it is fulfilling in nature and yet always leaves you thirsting for more. I hope that it is a decision without regret and made for the right reasons. I hope it was a conquer and not a surrender to how painful it can sometimes be. Grieving always- Smiles. I grieve because of the impact of words and actions. I grieve because there will never be an opportunity to allow time to fold on itself and erase the dumb decisions we make. I hope that it is what it is to you what it once was to me. And I suppose this is where I leave purgatory. Knowing that some day I must return. Goodbye.
Purgatory? A realm seemingly without realms. I await here for answers. But it appears as though just maybe answers are in the air floating above me in a jumbled format. Or perhaps the answers randomly fill the empty slots without rhyme or reason to who is asking. But maybe, still, there are no answers but the ones we make for ourselves...
IT IS SUPPOSED TO SUCK! Don't read my purgatory it if you hate bad poetry. Purgatory is about embracing the sin. The sin is that I have focused so much on perfecting the craft that I have lost so much passion for the written word. Does your mind go right to the error? Do you find yourself in uniform simply because they tell you that you must?
Purgatory is a simple conception wrapped in an impossible enigma. I woke up and didn't like the person that I saw in the proverbial mirror. Still don't. For everybody whose blogs I ever went into demanding perfection. For every time I demeaned a great message for the bullshit that it was burried in.
This is death. This is rebirth.
I guess the fire just likes some things more than others.
Consumes until the brittle and dry cease to be.
I guess the fire just likes some things more than others.
Terrifying the trapped, weak and beneath the bed.
Feels so superior to scortch the wickedness.
The wretchedness. The unbelievable torment that
satisfies itself. The embers on the rug.
Carbonizing photographs around us as memory fades.
So in this land of purgatory, I will probably be writing a lot of things that I wouldn't have written otherwise. No holds barred. And um... some of it might look good. Some of it might look bad. But none of it will be a fallacy. When I wake up one day proud of who I am I think it might be worth it.
ABOUT THE THROWN OF AN ANGEL'S TOMBSTONE
Here it lies manifested in scribble. Barely legible.
He's like the flesh-eating poison that you sip just like wine
The chalice of the not yet forgiven is full.
Ingested unto himself as legions flaunt the remedy.
The miracles of faith? Now I have none!
But if only for a few undeserved words our glass would drop.
Soaked into the soil and dried just as fast.
Never to be uttered by mortal tongues again.
Is it the fear of life within the lifelessness?
Is survival nothing more to you, Angel, than this?
A worst case scenario? Is it?!
For when the vultures peck me clean…
And the rest decays to ash…
I will be so far away.
Here it lies manifested in scribble. Barely legible.
Goddess is like a shattered glass tarot card
That you can let go of but never grasp.
Never take never steal never hold nevermore.
But if only for a few undeserved words I would collect them.
Reconstructed without instructions of fate.
Without the labels or dominations of them labels.
Is it the comfort of apathy that comforts you not?
Is survival nothing more to you, Angel, than this?
Last blog I do before I take my fourth tour of purgatory
Purgatory for me is a long series of deep contemplations and meditations of my life up until this point. Maybe a little into the future. Not too far into the future. A part of me is eager. But a big part of me is also scared. It is not a happy place. I keep reading over Epictetus quotes as I am about to carry the burdens of my inner universe.
"If you desire to be good, begin by believing that you are wicked." I have never met a truly evil person in my life who stepped up to the table when they were handing out blame.
Goals? I want to never assume that I don't owe somebody an apology simply because they have wronged me. I want to get rid of some of these foolish dreams... one in particular... and develop a sense of hope with a productive meaning. I want lastly to say something to a particular person. No real reason to drop names.
In our fondest days of mutual admiration, I do not believe that either of us had uttered a single word of slander. It shames me how an unclear moment of misunderstanding can blind you to the beauty in the world. Can pain you to the pleasure and make health seem like a cancer. A nagging injury now dwells inside me and I suppose it wouldn't still burn and consume my waking and dreaming hours if I still didn't have that admiration. I assume that because my name still bothers you that you will never trust me with that emotion again. That's harsh but fair. I came from nothing and wanted nothing until we met. What now? The universe seems swept away in one swift motion. Reality? I'd sell my soul to touch your soul one more time. But I just don't have it anymore. If given the chance, could I explain myself against your accusations without making excuses? ...Purgatory... will probably tell me that the wish is pointless and I apologize.
I see nothing immoral about these divine lights that no longer shine for me. I can't relate you to my last breath only the ones we shared together. I can't connect you with this black death. This plague that comsumes nations with poisonous fleas. I see nothing wrong with nothing and so I pass once more into a realm of Purgatory. I disconnect myself with god once more to feel the sickness of its absence. I connect myself with god to feel the burdens of my flesh. Lord, I see nothing wrong with the fact that you aren't here. You had no obligation to be. I have my crazy passions and smile wide to the gifts I've been given. I have my torments that interrogate the soul. But here is my fourth installment of purgatory.
May I journey the lengths of you once more? May I become a better person because of it all or in spite of it all? I beg for either. May my kingdoms burn and my body die if it is all of what it takes.
Whenever I wake up feeling demolished by the pain I am thankful that I do not yet need to grab the anesthetic by the nightstand. Feels constantly as if something is kicking me from within. Steel-toe boots walking all over my bones with authority.
Whenever I go to sleep wondering about what tomorrow will bring I am thankful that it comes without the idea of absolution. Tomorrow will not be a day I submit to my peers and it will not be a day where I pretend to be something I am not for the benefit of anybody else.
Whenever I get that feeling of loss at the pit of my stomach, I guess the ultimate solace is this: If you have ever lost somebody who might have been the one, it is better than waking up next to somebody every morning when you know that they are not the one. Better than your soul rotting from within as it craves for an escape.
Whenever I think that maybe my dreams or aspirations have gone unanswered, I suppose I can find solace in the idea that life as we know it is over. It is the biggest waste of time in the universe if you really want to think about things in a cosmic spectrum. No soul has the unalienated obligation to misery. NO SOUL HAS THE UNALIENATED OBLIGATION TO MISERY. And if time were a fluid stream… life is nothing more than a drop in its many, many oceans.
So whenever I find myself unhappy with the way my life has turned up or the people that are in my life… I simply remember all that is subject to change. The universe has been comprised of delicate fabrics that ironically sustain the ultimate supernova and continue surviving. So the problems of my day and of my life… I suppose they can go off and bother somebody else. They say that when dreams die, the body soon follows. But I guess here is where I find solace. The land that transcends between this reality and the subconscious next one.
I miss my puppy so much. I wonder if she thinks I am punishing her for something that she didn't do. I don't even know. It just hurts so much. When I moved out, I brought her with me. Smiles and Stormy. Guess I wouldn't get so homesick if I had her giving me hugs or singing with me. The landlord said that I couldn't keep her here. And I guess I could see her point. I cried the whole way driving home as I left her with my mother. I imagine her sitting by the window waiting for my car to pull up in the driveway.
So I was bottling this all inside me until yesterday. I have been extremely busy going out and doing things. But... I couldn't find anything to fill the void. Katie had messaged me up late on the space and asked me to meet her at her house. Said she would be home all day and didn't give a time. So I drove over there trying to keep my mind off of my baby. I can't see her. Can't feel her. But sometimes... I guess I can hear her in the back of my mind. A portion of this dog will stay with me long after they put me in the grave. It's like we are kindred spirits and shit. I guess I showed up at the only time Katie wasn't there and I just couldn't bottle it up anymore. Being stood up just sucks.
So as I was pondering late at night about all of the horrible messages we were sending back and forth to one another; I realized that no human is perfect. I was yelling at her for something she couldn't have helped and she was yelling at me for things that I, at the moment, couldn't help. I am extremely lucky to have her. And after about four hours of fighting... I told her that I was sorry. And it was all as if it had never happened. It really makes me wonder about the constructs of time. Them four hours really didn't matter. The fight really didn't even matter in the first place. The paradox was that I couldn't have been mad at her if I didn't care about her. And she couldn't have took my words to heart if somewhere she didn't at least care about me enough to listen.
So today was like a new beginning. Taking things into perspective of how many other four hour lengths of time could maybe be healed. The meaningless pointless fight. I want to be right. You want to be right. But... as we are both right... we have both neglected to be righteous. And I think at the end of the day it is more important to be righteous than right. Today, I got my shit together and I visited my puppy dog. Told her I loved her and gave her lots of hugs and kisses. And when I came home... the void was waiting for me. Sitting on the edge of my pillow waiting for me. I just hope that my void is a four hour length of time.
Fighting the void. Making conversation with anybody I can. Working on my novel. I even spent two hours cooking up a pan of lazagna for me and my roomates. Perhaps life is a series of temporary voids that need filling. Because in the scheme of things... if we care about each other... that is all that really matters.
So I am going to do something that I have not done in a long time
Bow your heads in prayer! On second thought, it might be bad for your neck if you bow your head and still try to read what is on the screen. So just do it aloud so that the lord will hear us. I know a lot of congregations like to think that maybe God can't read or even hear you unless if you all speak loudly but in that voice that you make so that maybe you will be in vocal uniform with the asshole sitting next to you. For the Goodsense prayer, you don't need to get all dressed up. Come as you are. Don't bother sending a donation. Let us pray...
Dear Lord,
Please kill the following people... hahahahahaha... just kidding. But seriously, Dude. Why the hell are you so angry all the time? I mean, think about it! You live in a kingdom that was built just for you. And you never have to pay rent. You have people killing and dying in your name. Sure, some people might feel neglected if you sat around naked all day playing video games; but it isn't like you gave a fat fuck about the people that were hit by hurricane Katrina. Hell, George W Bush did more than you did and he's a fuckoff... who may or may not care about black people. You are living the dream, Man! I bet you could fuck any nun on the face of the planet. You wouldn't even have to call them the morning after. They have been talking to you without response for years. It's a working system. Why stop now? SO LIGHTEN UP! No more killing our first borns. No more giant slaying bitches with slingshots. No more throwing helpless people into lion's pits. Just chill! Oh, and I think you owe Job an apology. Poor guy. You had better get on that. It's not too much to ask. I'm not begging for any money or anything like that. In the history of huge favors such as the Declaration of Independence or the Magna Carta, you can see that I am not truly asking for all that much. Enjoy what you have. Stop wandering into our bedrooms late at night and pointing fingers. It was rude when our roomates do it and it is rude when you do it.
So when I told people that I was going to be out on my ass on the first of the month; I wasn't asking for any hand outs. I never ask for hand outs and you basically have to force me to take your help. But I want to thank everybody who offered me a place to stay and anybody who offered anything else. [Except the sluts who were just trying to get into my pants. We don't thank them.]
Lately I have been trying to reason this lackluster existence. And it hasn't been easy. I haven't been able to get excited about anything in a very long time. And then I came to a conclusion. This is an example of karma. Not an example of the good or bad things we do. Just an example of a cosmic consequence. I gambled big with my soul and I suppose it is true what they say about the house always taking a cut. If the world always gambles and the house always takes a cut... we eventually just fucked ourselves. Because today, conformity means more to most of us than anything that could possibly fulfill us. We marry people we can't stand because we are expected to start families. We work jobs we hate so that we can live just one more month in a perpetual hope of change. There is no passion in the world today. How often do we see people just being herded like cattle? In the supermarket. The library. The mall. The bar. Just follow suit and live to a ripe old age constantly doing as you are expected. Fun!
So this is the fate of the man without a soul. You must sit and watch. Witness the universe collapsing on itself. When the point is pointlessness. Naive enough to think that people change and promises are kept. Naive enough to think that when a stranger smiles at you for any other reason than humilating you that they aren't faking it. Naive enough to think that our elections have given us some kind of a choice. Naive enough to think that there is a heaven that we don't have to make for ourselves. Yes! I hear the sincerety in the laughter of children! Yes! I feel the warmth of hugs from time to time. Innocence... the cosmic gambles... ignorance... I have never told somebody that I loved them when I didn't. Never told somebody that I loved them when I could imagine a world without them. And now I find that I don't say it nearly as much as I once did. Karma
I wrote this one after watching a story on MSNBC. Police officers tazered a teenager for an excessive period of time and he later died of heart failure. In response, they were suspended for five days. This one is for their fucking uniforms.
IMPALPABLE
(FORMS OF ONE)
In the scheme of discarded games; I vomit atop systems attached to.
History held the same weight as myth since I went there.
The facsimile of distortions and translators.
A jumbled, fumbled, humbled speculation.
Be I the robes of a church; the rags of the street.
An executioner's cloak; the togs of a convict.
Admired in the array of kings; stripped naked as scoundrels.
Possess will I... the intention and the imagination of truth!
Broken glass, knives, cops, booze, and bike chains. Last night fucking rocked!
Last night was one of the greatest nights of my life. Probably for all the wrong reasons. But whatever. I decided about six months ago that fighting was counter-productive to my philosophical pathways and I would only do it if it was absolutely necessary. Which is probably the only thing that saved his life. My mother called me late last night and told me that her boyfriend stole her cigarette case and wouldn't give it back. She needed me to come on out to make sure that nothing got too out of hand. Needless to say, I didn't do a very good job of that.
So the moment I pull into his driveway he is going through a wide range of drunken emotions. All in their extremes. The one moment, he is horrified. More horrified to the fact that I was called than the fact that the police were later called. The other moment, he bites the bullet and starts screaming at the top of his lungs about how he wants to fucking kick my ass. Yet all I could do is laugh. He was probably too drunk to notice that, in between screams, he was muttering almost incoherently about how he doesn't want to beaten within an inch of his life. That wasn't what I had went there for. So, as an act of mercy, I took off the bike chain and put it in the backseat of my car.
NOTE: The chain exists for cowards who would want to jump me. Not for people who step up like a man and do it right.
I didn't need the chain. So then my mother calls the police about this "domestic disturbance". My mother wanted to leave so I moved my car out of the driveway. You would have thought that I had started fucking world war three. I kept hearing LET'S FUCKING GO! and WE'RE GOING TO JAIL TONIGHT! so many times that I had simply blocked him out. If it was just me in the driveway, I might have done it. But I was more concerned about my mother getting home safely. As she tried to back out of the driveway, he jumped up on the back of her car. I kept telling her to kill the engine. It was only pissing him off more and more. But they were like too immature teenagers.
I was as cool as Fonzy. He was drunk. Not stupid. Smiles Goodsense is damn near three hundred pounds and not especially scared of anything. But the next thing I know, he is hitting the back of her car. Because she keeps trying to get out of the driveway. I thought this was wrong. Because if you call the cops, you should really stick around until they get there. Then, all of a sudden, I hear the sound of broken glass. He had just smashed the tail light. I have learned long ago that you simply cannot reason with an alcoholic that is in a rage. The reason why they are upset usually has nothing to do with the situation at hand. My mother obviously didn't hear me telling her that the tail light had been busted because she was still trying to back up. He clubs her back windshield about five or six times and suddenly it shatters into a million pieces. And all that I can think is that if my mother had borrowed my car, he would have been a corpse. LOL!
The cops finally arrive after he makes another call trying to say that we are stealing from him and blocking him in his driveway. ??? So as the cops pull him aside, he casually throws the knife out of his pocket. Drunk casual. Not normal casual. So all the time that he is threatening me, he is hiding this knife. Ironic. Because it didn't shock me in the least. I have stared down the end of an angry blade before and I know the worst it has to offer.
So not ten minutes after we finally get home from all of this mess, he is calling me on my mother's cell thanking me for standing aside and doing nothing. This was as I was helping my mother clean up the glass. I couldn't help but think that it was all a test. Yes. Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Because now there is little doubt that I have improved upon the person that I am. Not only did I refrain from fighting. But I never once had the urge to fight. Killing the urge is almost impossible. I am happy to know that I am no longer the excessively angry person that I once was. Because not six months ago, a simple domestic disturbance call would have required an ambulance... and a possible trial.
