I’m not much good at the chemistry of life, but I know reality has a nasty but necessary habit of burning off impurities and changing your essential composition.  Much as I’m a pyromaniac, this extreme type of fire is not fun or addictive.  It’s painful and leaves you scarred, yet in time you’re purged and better for it–  if you don’t self-combust, or incinerate others with you.

I’m not a cheery flask-half-full kind of person, as I may have hinted a time or two!  It all sucks, and you know it.  I can’t do the façade for appearances.  That was my parents’ generation.  Ours just let it all hang out, all that was wrong with our world, and where they could shove it.  I learned to be highly critical and offended by ignorance.  I still struggle with that.

Here in the waiting room on the other side of the proverbial tracks, it’s kind of like a lab.  Life is a catalyst, doing weird nasty experiments on us, trying to burn away crap, and we are not amused.  Yet I know in the end, the final product will be more refined and functional, if I don’t fight the process.  Resistance is futile in the chem lab of life.







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