That Gosh Darn Rage

I am now going to The Haven in the afternoon, hoping that the free beer will make up for not being here in the early morning. I look at the river full of boaters and feel anger.  I drive through town and see all the new buildings and feel anger. I forget things and feel anger. My computer doesn't work right and I feel anger. 

And the inner violence since September.  That's been interesting. 

The world is a terrible beautiful place. I feel so much sadness for Texas and Gaza and Ukraine. All this horror in the world.  I'm am lucky to be safe.  Then why am I so sad and angry so much of the time?  Because I'm a crazy asshole.

I'm just as sad and angry and violent as any MAGA -- but I'm not stupid, so I guess that's the difference.  

I'm angry in part because I'm sober right now.  I really should get off weed because it's super bad for my health but really, who cares?  I just hope the heart attack that takes me out does it quickly and completely.  I hope I don't stroke out. But I've got enough $$ to pay people to take care of me since I don't have children or a young wife. I've fixed my will so that Lilli Ann will get some money and take control of the animals when I go.  It cost me $380 to change one name to another name in my will. Fuck lawyers.

Dear Will:

Do you remember when we joked about this Shakespearean sonnet? 

We're all cracked!

Sonnet 135: Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will,

And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;

More than enough am I that vex thee still,

To thy sweet will making addition thus.

Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,

Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?

Shall will in others seem right gracious,

And in my will no fair acceptance shine?

The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,

And in abundance addeth to his store;

So thou being rich in Will add to thy Will

One will of mine, to make thy large Will more.

   Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill;

   Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

 You were sexy smart when we first got together. I wonder how much of my own rage you carried for me in your crankiness?

I think about you every time I'm at the dog park and a pup comes over for one of my dog's treats and I say to them, "Is yo name Miss Sequel?" I remember you quoting Louise Beavers' line from Holiday Inn ("Is yo name Miss Linda?") to the kitties when they were complaining. So I quote her and think of you.

I feel like the famous joke, 

    "Dr., after my hand surgery, will I be able to play the violin?"
     "Why, of course" 
    "That's funny, I never could before."

I wasn't mentally healthy before you died, there's no reason to assume I'm going to be mentally healthy in the future, no matter how much therapy I get.  It's just not something I ever was. As you know.

Thanks for playing with the light again. Thanks for continuing to care about me.

You know, as I work on my memoir, I'm reminded that it might have saved both of us from a lot of pain if you'd ever told me that I was attractive to you or that you were in love with me.

But, that's blood under the bridge.

Miss you terribly,

Kake