becomes a post

there's an angry pain in my foot. it's boiling.

this is the only reason i write. it's the reason i write right now. it's the reason i write in general. anger. and pain.

i'm blown away by the realization that that was the reason that i used to read. to escape from anger and pain. sometimes, i'd escape from immediate anger, just minutes from an argument. or other times from the indirect pain of boredom and lonesomeness of sitting home after school with nothing to do.

but also, i'm a pretty casual, relaxed person. i could sit with minimal stimulation for hours. during these times my mind coasts, joining my body. i don't feel like writing at these times. but if i'm angry...

i feel like my mind has been taught best under stress. last second essays or important arguments with family members. so it's also only natural that if i'm angry, i'm more willing and able to write. things are overflowing, feelings are, so i write to give them weight, to make them real, which is all they want, and so they subside, and become not real any longer.

now i feel better, and there is no reason to write any more.

much better.

oh, and the pain in my foot is real, but isn't why i was writing. i was writing because of how rude my indifference can be to a customer after contrasting it with my unexpected kindness to them yesterday.