I have a rage issue, and to top it off, I am probably paranoid. Kristi knows about the paranoia - noises, things that go bump, odd words and looks, the blinker on the old lady's car in front of us. And while some people may consider a little vigilance, or caution to be good, I handle some of these things, in my opinion, a little irrationally. A knife out of the drawer of the kitchen cabinet, a sword with a gruesome looking skull carved into the hilt. Consider jumping out of bed in the middle of the night ready for a fight at a strange sound.
What was that?
Don't know...
The door?
The back door?
Go see.
The rage issue though is a nuance to this paranoia. As a young boy I had it, used it pitifully, losing all inhibitions for my own or any others safety, generally a pretty loud, primal-entity fuzzing up my field of vision and carrying weapons like stones and sledghammers - far too heavy for a boy. Now though, in my forties with a wife and daughter, a business that at times can be all consuming, a bit of boxing and kickboxing training, a blackbelt in Aikido - I am growing nervous as times to release frustrations are limited that it will come out. And it has not here in this town and not with anyone that you my good readers would know, but it (the rage) is an ugly devil.
I was once in a fight after 9/11 - more emotionally charged, but it turned. I had a knife at my chest - a sharp butchery-looking thing. I grabbed it, throwing it to the floor. Things got fuzzy, and though I never physically retaliated, I saw something that scared me perhaps more than my opponent.
The Devil.
I saw myself in those eyes - talking slowly, breathing hard. Cruelty incarnated into what this other person saw as a reason, justified and ready, to suffer horribly.
I turned away. Perhaps God had other plans.
It almost came out again recently. I walked before any devil could come out, but my language became a little flowery - and I hate that.
The problem is this: It's going to come again. And I need a valve. I pray for it. I have been looking for an old punching bag again - stuffed and heavy. A gym - a real one that lets guys beat the snot out of each other like they were meant to - to prevent war, death.
What was that?
Don't know...
The door?
The back door?
Go see.
The rage issue though is a nuance to this paranoia. As a young boy I had it, used it pitifully, losing all inhibitions for my own or any others safety, generally a pretty loud, primal-entity fuzzing up my field of vision and carrying weapons like stones and sledghammers - far too heavy for a boy. Now though, in my forties with a wife and daughter, a business that at times can be all consuming, a bit of boxing and kickboxing training, a blackbelt in Aikido - I am growing nervous as times to release frustrations are limited that it will come out. And it has not here in this town and not with anyone that you my good readers would know, but it (the rage) is an ugly devil.
I was once in a fight after 9/11 - more emotionally charged, but it turned. I had a knife at my chest - a sharp butchery-looking thing. I grabbed it, throwing it to the floor. Things got fuzzy, and though I never physically retaliated, I saw something that scared me perhaps more than my opponent.
The Devil.
I saw myself in those eyes - talking slowly, breathing hard. Cruelty incarnated into what this other person saw as a reason, justified and ready, to suffer horribly.
I turned away. Perhaps God had other plans.
It almost came out again recently. I walked before any devil could come out, but my language became a little flowery - and I hate that.
The problem is this: It's going to come again. And I need a valve. I pray for it. I have been looking for an old punching bag again - stuffed and heavy. A gym - a real one that lets guys beat the snot out of each other like they were meant to - to prevent war, death.
You need to start a fight club.
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