Monday, June 4, 2012  Chariots of Ire  I have two very strong
mechanisms at play in my consciousness at all times. One is
guilt. The other, guilt. I don't know where all this culpability
comes from, why I feel responsible for every bad thing that
could potentially happen in my orbit even before it takes place.
Though, I venture it's a control issue. Because I control
nothing, I want to control everything, to guide all encounters,
relationships and events toward peaceful shores, and when so
often I find I can do little to effect anything, I attempt to
swallow the shipwreck whole.  But, like all forms of adorable
mental illness, I don't leave it there. I can twist even this
already constricting malady a bit tighter, make it a little more
uncomfortable, like a corset made of steel wool and spiders,
cinching it up with laces of regret; I feel guilty about feeling
guilty.  One thing I feel guilty about is my own anatomy. I
don't get enough exercise. I am strong, like bull, but neither
flexible, nor lithe. My joint