Have you ever had a missed opportunity that bothered you? And felt frustrated or angry with yourself because of it? This piece came to me today at work after recalling such an event. Enjoy.
My, how that one thought keeps appearing to torment me day after long day. Usually people I would say I was pretty relaxed, at least I’d say. But that one ridiculously mindless accident still haunts me. You know the one I’m talking about? The one you can’t let go of. Not one second will pass where I do not contemplate the fragile hairs in my head and how it would feel to slowly rip them from my skull. Some stinging steam steadily rises up through my body. A bubbling devious creature that slyly floats up from the murk. At first I’ll watch my fingers cramp up before balling themselves into tight red fists, I feel my eyes immediately glaze over. A solitary thought enters my mind: rage. Not even the cause of my undying frustration is clear anymore. My entire being fills with a heavy impenetrable dark smoke. Logic begins to evaporate from my brain and is subtly replaced with false desires. An unhealthy obsession with biting my nails begins. I pace maniacally in breathy short circles. Fuming. Panting. Smoking. Compared to everything around me, I feel heavy. Even the white walls that surround me appear as soft as white cotton. Wishing to sink my fist into anything within the vicinity becomes my sole focus. Running my hands over my face and through my hair seems to be the only sense of calm I can receive. Even then I find myself pulling at my skin by the tips of my fingers, aggressively grabbing tufts of my thick hair. Nothing can subside this growing fire burning behind my eyes. Waiting is the only medicine I can produce for myself but that only aggravates me more as the feeling of restlessness consumes my every movement. Pace pace. Sigh. Pace pace. Sigh. The familiar sound of a tea pot whistling fills my ears like a cliche cartoon animation. Anger- the beating of the rams heart in the face of unsuspecting trespassers. And the Survivors of interactions with such a creature? Either left brutally wounded or unscathed with nerves torn virtually asunder by the sheer image of wrath incarnate. Meditating on these thoughts of destruction returns my mind to ease. One must inhale to exhale. One has to sleep to dream. I must know anger to understand the value of my smile. Focusing on my lips, I let my chest drop and feel my lungs slowly become empty as the elevator in front of my opens with a ding.