my name is pen -

And I have an occasional haterade problem. For someone who doesn’t talk a lot, or enough, or whatever. I can go off on a tangent. Pound a point home past a listener’s comfort level. Take the snark too far.

I just want to effect change, dammit.

But on the other hand, I wish sometimes that I would just shut up. Why does it feel impossible to do so? At least in that moment.

Perhaps I need to fast on words. At least the vitriolic ones? But then where would that energy go.

Maybe I need a mantra.

Maybe I should just pray? I could like, pray for those whom I’m all bitchy about even though they are clearly beyond all hope. Could pray for grace ‘cuz that’s all I’ve got left.

Or just carry a roll of duct tape with me at all times.

Although – and this is my concession, my effort to extend the gift of mercy to myself, too, rather than just everyoneelse. Sometimes I think I’d naturally remain a little calmer, a little less inclined to step on a soapbox and stay there, shouting for hours, if I were allowed some guiltless (critical) time to recharge my batteries. Without someone always in my face, 24/7, needing or demanding constant company. Because sometimes I think my inability to shutup about somesuch topic that inspires somuch bitterness is also my indirect, unintentional way of saying backthefuckoff and givemesomespace.

Thank you for listening to my story. My name is pen. And now I’m off to enjoy some of that socalled aforementioned rare space and watch ProRun. With no one around. Except maybe guilt.

xoxox the occasionally poisonous pen