I'm always on the verge of annoyance. On edge, not, but I have a hot flowing spring of bitterness somewhere near the front of my thoughts that can be tripped at a moment's notice.
I've always tried to be, from a certain point in my life, in control of my anger. I have a lot of anger, and all of it is pretty much bolted away, a set of demons at the gate of my personality that will some day quite politely let themselves out and lay waste to my life. Anger you can bottle. Anger you can vent. Not annoyance, though. Annoyance is so painful because it can't be ignored. If you have enough bile in your system, it will start to eat away eat the edges of your balance. My balance.
No.
Alright, how about this. I used to have a scratchpad because my memory is so poor. This scratchpad helped me keep track of my thoughts and not forget my major ideas. It helped for a while, but then I lost it. It was destroyed, beyond any trace. Now I can't remember anything from the time at which I had that scratchpad. All of those plans, lost. And I'm pretty glad of that. But I'm not sure why . . .
I have a feeling of unease, but I'm not sure why. Anticipation of the future. Over the past amount of time, I've learned to do two very redundant things: hate the present and fear the near future. I'm not sure if I ever want to learn the motivations of my unconscious. I think I'm scared now and want to stop writing.
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