Pent up

This is where it gets dangerous.

This is why friends, family, animals, and bosses can’t completely rely on me. It’s why success–if ever in my weak grasp–tends to hide in the shadows.

There is a part of me, a blue-jean wearing, no-shaving, rockstar-responsiblity part of me that can only be shackled with an overload of work. When the works gets heavy, the irresponsible guy can’t breathe. He’s pissed off. He’s liquored up. He vows revenge.

This is where it gets dangerous.

This is where the convertible-top-in-the-middle-of-autumn, drinking-before-noon, wandering-morals, anti-social-mores part of me starts causing problems.

I do my best. I pack my bag with as much work as I can find. I shame that other part of myself into submission.

But like an animal, it takes the blows and just gets more pissed off.

In the past I’ve let this bastard win. This time I need a new strategy. I’ve tried everything I know. It never works.

This is where it gets dangerous.