.... day 3 - the critical point. David says he's scared of day 3, with good reason. We bite and gnash our teeth so easily. Both Shane and I are on day 3, @ the same time. We've told David to keep his distance, to keep all sudden moves to a minimum, to keep talking to what is, actually, required. David is the happy, chatty, warm one of the inmates, usually. He's always smiling, nothing usually bothers him. He looked from me to Shane and back again, tonight and declared he was going to his room.
I looked @ Shane and said, "Probably, a very smart decision."
Shane hissed something about the next person he was going to kill, @ which point I decided to take myself off to my bed and out of harms way. Out of every one's way.
I'm tired. I'm grumpy. I'm on a short fuse, I can feel it. Everybody is giving me the shits.
I just want to scream and yell and break something, I can feel it in me. I can feel the anger bubbling. Anger that is contained and which, I know, won't come out. It will dissipate before it explodes. But it is there, I can feel it inside me. It is a strange feeling, as I'm, generally, a very laid back kind of guy. Things don't bother me, normally. So to feel the devil inside, scratching, it is, kind of, weird. It's not so much a monkey on my back, as evil in the pit of my stomach.
My mind has done it's normal, usual, mind game stuff... finish a project @ work "Have a cigarette," says my head... sit down @ home with a coffee. "Where are your cigarettes?" says my head.
"Ah, quit it," I say, as I threaten to hit myself. "I've just got to forget."
Just breath, feel your centre, feel the gentleness of the day and everything will be okay, I tell myself.
Everything is going to be okay.
More Catherine Tate, that's what I say.
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