That feeling ... like you want to put your fist or maybe your face through a plate glass window. Sometimes it's about the aftermath ... the warm feeling of blood rushing down your face, a sure way to know you're alive ... Sometimes it's the action in itself, the act of smashing, the noise, the destruction ... I don't know what it is with me. I suspect I should call someone ... Orange Mike is the most likely to both understand and respond.

Sometimes, at Quiet Storm, I see these people sitting and having these intense one-on-one conversations, and I think that's what I want. To have someone be that interested in what's really going on with me ... so have someone lean in close and focus on what I'm saying ...

Instead, it feels like all that much chitchat. Ah, here I go ... off to try and find someone to be my friend yet again!