Cats are not supposed to wake up the houseape if the houseape has not had eight hours of rest.

Back at Garden of the Gods, sometime during Lee's visit, we ended an evening stroll amidst nature's cathedral. Upon returning to the car all I could hear were the birds around me, the wind in the trees and the underlying silence which reinforced the fact there is no absence in this kind of peace. I couldn't hear the tourists nor their children, just nature.

I closed my eyes and wept for several minutes. The past couple of nights I've been feeling that well up inside of me. Not being a strong person it overwhelmed me. Last time was on Wednesday evening at therapy where I brought up the idea of leaving Colorado and I wept once again. My upper arms became tight, other muscles followed suit and I felt like I was being crushed by a giant. I sat on the couch for a few minutes waiting to feel normal, hoping my back would not go out again and feeling grateful that I drove instead of cycling to his office.

Since then I've been golden.

Actually it's worse than that. Thoughts started encroaching on me along the lines of "I can't wait to get out of here!" without the regret or sorrow earlier in the month. Nearly lost my temper on Saturday, vented to Lee and felt much better after getting my new cycling gloves and bike multitool.
Shit's pretty cash, yo.
Lost myself playing Team Fortress 2 for a couple of hours and logged out but when I logged out the act came across badly like I was pissed off when I wasn't just having a sore butt and wanting to look at something other than the map for 2Fort. Explained what was going on, went to gaming and stated my case trying not to be a dick but apparently I was a dick and it reinforced my personal beliefs that whatever goes on with my feelings is irrelevant and it's always best to look out for everyone else at my own expense.

Same shit happened back in New Jersey where I didn't live at home for extended periods because I believed if my mother didn't see me then my father would have a happier relationship with her. A more peaceful relationship. I was the source of strife being a slovenly, unemployed piece of shit excuse for this planet's reigning endoskeletal species.

Folks, ants have a far greater and more powerful empire than homo sapiens could ever comprehend. Just because their culture and society is so alien these ants are considered to be just bugs. Nothing but monkey hubris, boys and girls.

Let's not mention the lurking anxiety which has been haunting me since late January. Whenever I come home late at night and see the patio light is on while I walk towards the backyard I stop, tell myself that I'm crazy and divesting myself of reality. The thought which gives me serious pause is that raddidge drove down here, killed herself and her body would be cooling on the concrete. The voices in my head start shouting that it's all my fault. Of course that doesn't happen, thank goodness, and eventually the voices quiet down but as I descend into my dark basement it takes a little time to simmer down and feel at ease once again.

So there you have it, warts and all. I'm a dickhead. An insensitive and self-centered one. Who cares?

Well, I'm just glad that Lee cares about me.

Dear editor:

Please note that your first sentence in today's "What I told Lee" is incorrect. I actually LOVE salted butter and am traumatized whenever I carefully butter my roll or toast, or fry an egg, in what turns out to be unsalted butter. This is a travesty beyond normal travesties. I harbor deep rooted hatred on this matter for those who feel that unsalted butter is higher on the gourmet food chain, and those include Mater K. and Pater K.. Their trickery with this is beyond compare. They deliciously savor my disgusted face at least a dozen times during the summer months as they punk me on this time and time again.

Thank you for letting me air my grievances.

Love, L.