Two explosions in seven hours? Damn....Talk about some dynomite being under me.

I normally do not get that bad. In general I am a chill and rather smiley person.

Yesterday I had a sobbing in the rain panic attack and then an anger blast that actually made me scream.

My brain is apparently just through the roof.

Self-defense should be nice tomorrow.

Ugh. Talk about a fucked up week.

Messed up in weather too. Today I can wear shorts. Tuesday we have snow.
Yeah.

There is something to be said for walking in the cold wind and rain and the good feeling of soaked pants clinging to cold thighs and walking on squishy grass.
There is a good feeling in just letting your legs drive your feet in to the earth as you put your head down and charge and thrum through puddles and mud, dark wet tree branches. There is something somewhat beautiful in tasting your hot salty tears with the sweet rain. There is something of a freedom in the desolate open wet nature when the weather matches the desperation of your emotions as you both rain together. The shower of tears becomes a shower of clean, as the emotion washing from you and leaving something of a clarity but acknowledgment that the mind needed to be that far on the edge so it could come back. And still you are left there in the rain and the wind and your knees want to buckle but to fall would be more of a surrender than you are ever willing to give yet. So you surrender your voice instead and not a cry comes out but a song, a song drifting from thoughts in the steady of the soul. There is freedom in no one hearing you but yourself and maybe the person for which you sing somehow hearing you too. Where I could not voice the sadness and madness within me for a throat too choked up I could now sing contentedly and freely of the past, of a moment, of a dream and I was free finally as I had not been.
Driven to the solitude I lingered and I took my peace and the meaning of being there in the freedom of it, in the utter perfection of the catalyst of emotion and what it had left me with. Soaked cold pants and squishy grass.

I guess that's the poet in me, admiring it all even when I am in the greatest depths of emotional upheaval.

Anyhoo, HOMEWORK TIME!

Oh wait, on a happier note: pushing your friends in grocery carts through the mall? Priceless.

Peace.
~Lo