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Sunday, July 17, 2016

Thoughts on 'anger'.

I don't normally cuss or curse when angry because I keep it classy I believe in raising the quality of my argument instead of my voice, but there are certain individuals whom really test my limits.

I hate being angry because it ruins the 'brick walls' which form my parameters. Letting someone get to me, is like letting them pluck out just enough loose bricks to destabilize and crumble them. Another reason is because, someone or something cannot MAKE me do something. In the end, it's a personal choice to react to something negatively.

I am working on allocating more blame upon myself instead of  'you made me this way-- sad, angry, in tears and about to punch something--which will probably make my knuckles bleed yet leave the object unperturbed anyway. ' I could have chosen to block it out, shake it off. But instead I'm sitting there with my face as hot as it normally gets after a run, my heartbeat accelerated, my teeth clenched so that my accentuated jawline makes me look even more masculine and thoughts shuffling so fast I can barely concentrate on one.

I'm not a saint though. I do curse. To emphasize something. From how rare that comes out of my mouth, I'm guessing the emphasis effect works. You would know if I'm "not in the fucking mood for this right now."
Most importantly, I've always associated cursing with what happens in bed. Reserved for the peak of intimacy/intensity, when you're almost not in your body anymore and you're out of breath, with the words barely escaping your mouth;

"That was fucking good."
"Fuck yes."

...I'll not delve into details. You're an adult, you get the idea.

I guess this post is the inevitable consequence of seeing something I should not have. It was a choice I made. I could have not gone out and looked for it. But I did. And damn, did it push some buttons.

P/s:  I typed half  this post with a purring white cat on my lap, moving its eyes with  my fingers rapidly slamming on the keys. So cute. So... fucking cute.