11-09-05 - 23:16
“Still my guitar gently weeps”
Work is work. The pay's ok and some of the people are cool. I have already shown that I have no sense of humor about my military past. I don't feel bad about tearing in to some kid because he said something about me being a baby killer. The kid can't even look me in the eyes now. That was the first time my anger was directed at someone other than myself since I got back.
I talked to "her" again. She’s trying to reach out to me once more. She is seeking a link to back home. Something to cling to when things get lonely. She brought up a lot of thing. Things I miss with a physical pain. Laying together in the morning, taking comfort in just being near someone that loves you. Knowing that right know everything is how it should be. It was at that point in the conversation that I broke out the whiskey. After I hung up the phone I knew that sleep was out of the question. So once more I got out the guitar. It’s the only release I have left. My fingers still hurt. I can't explain how, but I can pour my sorrow, anger and pain in to it and just let go. Nothing is ever solved, but it gives me just the briefest of moments of peace. It is short lived, but it is none the less beautiful.
Post script. Jelly, it made me smile.
