Anger

I'm a fair fighter mostly.

Sometimes the only thing you can yell at is the Universe.

The headaches, the loss of sleep, the anxiety I felt both before and after the meetings, the feeling that I have had a friendly circle taken from me -- these things hurt because I am a human being.

By the incremented rod of evolution, I am a failure. I have no children. I am not one of those people who calls himself "childless by choice". I am childless by circumstance.

I must admit that I played my part -- not minding my diabetes in the days following the Halloween washout and eating too much of the leftover candy -- but when I consider all evidence, the worst that can be said about me is that -- within the context of a self-fouled up body chemistry -- I failed to hold my temper in the face of a tantrum by another writer.

You just can't turn your back on a health problem.

I'm not fully adept at the moment of ridicule.

Doubtless we'll hear long agonized whines about our political correctness, but making fun of any disease is about as funny as a bastinado.

I spoke to the Demiurge: "Stop getting into my life. Get thee behind me -- where Satan is -- and push.

It's not the dead who give you the most problems from unresolved questions. It's the living who try to pin things on the dead and who won't take responsibility for their actions who bug the hell out of me.

To be truthful, I've enjoyed writing my rants about Job and about the Orange County Justice system. They're things that I can write about safely. What I am having trouble writing about might be called mysteries: I have no idea of the full measure of what is happening.

We're not free here in Republican heaven. Not by a long shot.