Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

Temporary Anger

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by Murray Dunlap  Cursed  >

 

The beginnings of true anger lie somewhere in the folds of actions set in motion by the people surrounding our literary protagonist. In this case, me. And the person who sent me into an irreversible bout of anger was just one man – who I have never met, and pray I’ll never meet. And what happened does not interest me here. A simple car wreck. A fleeting chance instance of one man failing to pay attention, and that is all. A red-light missed. So. I have little to say about the wreck itself. Its consequences, however, I’ll ponder for years and years to come. It’s unthinkable really, and I cannot put it into good words. So let me keep my ridiculous attempt brief. One spell of not walking, not driving, not working, not remembering, and worst of all, not being capable of being a good husband. So. Heartwrenching divorce followed shortly after. Too, too much had been lost.

This parade of maladies, and no one to blame. Who? The man who ran a red light? That is an irresponsible way to think. We’ve all made last minute decisions with no consequence. So no. I cannot hold this all against him. It would be extraordinarily unfair. We all make mistakes. But who then?  My ex-wife? No. She is a perfectly wonderful person who was consumed by the loss of her little brother (a hell of a guy) just six months prior. Damn Cancer! And to then see her husband go through SUCH profound changes… I spent the year following the wreck in a wheelchair. And was so medicated I have no idea what I was talking about… So there is no sense in blaming her. Blame myself? No again. I had no role in the wreck, and no memory of whatsoever -as I fight severe amnesia daily. I was doing 30mph on the very street I lived on, and WHAMMO!

But I am beginning to see the light (note the irony -my crash being caused by a failure to see a light) at the end of this madness, thank goodness, and although this has truly been hell, it seems as if it will all turn out fine. I published my book -Bastard Blue- at Press 53 after all, and have passed the miserable, but needed, affair called driver’s rehabilitation. With a traumatic brain injury, it is the state trying to keep us all safe. And I moved to a new city where I am being allowed the grace to start over. Athens it is. And here in Athens, I have met a fantastic, beautiful girl and fallen in love again.

So maybe I’m not angry anymore, after all…  Maybe I can move on to contentment and leave the heavy monster behind. 

 

published 19 November 2011