This is Meant For Myself and Myself Only. Please Read.

I have become too secure in myself and my self-awareness. My bathroom mirror is chock full of deception, lemme tell ya. The face I've been cringing at each morning hasn't been forthcoming with me. Ok, I'll admit that I notice the gray hair ... the scraggly bastard hairs that have taken up residence in my ears and nose are especially disconcerting ... It's as if my mind and my body are diametrically opposed and are in a life and death struggle for survival. (pssst.,,, hey, body, you're gonna lose. My mind is young and vibrant. Let your wrinkles, enlarged prostate, gray hairs and baggage-blackened eyes be nothing more than a facade for the vibrancy and timeless immaturity that resides within your skin.)

Physical appearance aside, Today I was beaten into submission and entered another level of self-awareness that had been concealed by my 'fuckitallfuckemiftheycan'ttakeajoke' by the individual I hold dearest. I wasn't physically beaten .. no, we reserve that pleasure for Saturday evenings after 'Catch 21' on Game Show Network .. I was pounded psychologically by my love with her utterance of four simple words ... "You are very angry".

Angry? Me? I consider everything to have a humorous slant. Everything. C'mon, I am the poster child for self-deprecating humor. I can find humor and a chuckle in anything, quite literally. Some might consider me callous and uncaring at times because of this gift... I consider this ability a survival instinct. Why would I be angry? Laugh and the world laughs with you, right? That's my take on things... after all, what in the name of Xenu could I be angry about? I'm alive and well. The multiple, botched suicide attempts are joke fodder as is my brief vacation at the Loudoun County mental ward. The mania-inspired arrests are but memories. Sure I reflect upon my incarcerations fondly ... the cameraderie, the friendships, the pat-downs and clinched anus ... good times, good times. Never mind that my arresting officers introduced themselves at the insistence of my former wife. Disregard the fact that a concoction of Effexor and Cabernet created the fuel for an epic mania that erases memory and inhibition. Oh yes, please  forgive the resulting consequences that swayed my very own offspring to disown me as a father .. even worse, disown me as a functioning human being.

Me, angry? I am alive. I survived the jailhouse floor. I feigned 'crazy' in order to survive and not be shanked or beaten. I have ingested enough charcoal to formally declare my local art supply store a grocery. Me, angry? Why would I harbor anger? I am an example of a survivor of mental distress, right? I'm grateful to mingle among the populace. You get my drift? I'm as happy as a newborn suckling on Angelina Jolie's ample bosoms. You can pick up what I'm putting down, right?

So, when I was smacked in the face with those four words, "You are very angry," I was taken aback. Then, after my fiber-induced morning constitutional and several hours of regaining sobriety, I said to myself, "Self, you are pissed off... you have issues." And here I am ... confronting the issues that are overtaking my humor and lightheartedness. What are these things that pisseth me off? They run the gamut from trivial to deep shit.. aka psychological. Trivial... Asian women in minivans on cellphones driving in the fast lane at 10 mph below the speed limit. Psychological ... my children disowning me because of my need to express myself as an individual. I haven't spoken to my now 16-year-old son in a year and a half. Try as I may, I am shunned. I am an embarrassment. Should I be angry? Nah .. hurt, yes. Angry, no.

The realization that I surrendered  nearly 20 years of my mind, life, goals, dreams and beliefs in an attempt to support and encourage another's life path shouldn't make me angry. I'm a giver, not a taker, after all, right? I should look at my giving nature as an attribute, don't you think?

Children .. I'll admit that I wasn't prepared to be a parent. But, I conformed. I played the role. I stifled my inner nature so as not to humiliate and embarrass those who looked to me for guidance. That's an admirable and natural act, right? I did a good job ... I was there for them but in the end I wasn't the ideal image of what a father should be. I ultimately chose to follow my own path. I expected unconditional love from those that I considered my own... Apparently self-awareness isn't written anywhere bin the definition of unconditional love.

So, I've lost my children. Those who are detached say, "Oh, they'll come back, don't worry." Okie doke .. whatever you say. I'm not angry though. Why should I be angry? The masses say that, "Hey, they're only kids. They'll come around." Never mind that they are 20 and 16 years old, they'll come around.

Angry? No. Why should I be angry? I'm a bag of 'happy happy joy joy'.

Fuck it. I'm pissed. I'm pissed at myself. I'm angry that I have allowed myself to be walked over. I should have an Empire Carpet commercial featuring a taupe shag carpet imprinted with my short-statured dumb ass. It may not sell millions but I know of at least two or three homes that will rip up hardwoods to install my face on the floor.

Angry? Ok, maybe. I'm a bit weary of being a doormat. Should I sit idly by and conform and succumb to the opinions of others? Should I contemplate mistakes I've made over the course of a lifetime? Should I blame anyone other than myself for my anger?

Nah. Yeah, I'm angry. But, I'm gonna use the anger... not in a belltower shooter way though. I would rather focus my hostilities inward and use my words to diffuse the  heat. I'm pissed. I need an outlet ... I don't wanna go back to jail and I sure as hell don't need another overdose-induced catheter. I scream like a 6-year-old gay boy when a catheter is thrust upon me. I need justification. My anger needs acceptance .. I need to thrust my frustrations 'tween the bosoms of a willing listener. Fortunately, I'm blessed with such a bosom ... I'd like to think that the majority of society are boobs that will willingly encompass my anger ..

The boobs part is probably spot on  ... the encompassing aspect may be a stretch.

Angry? Yeah. Time heals all wounds. until then, I'm gonna be angry. Like Charlie Chaplin once said ... " ....................... ........ .................... .... ................ " Insight is conceived from anger and dissent, Oh yeah, have a nice day :)