by David Dicesare

Created on: June 07, 2008

If life is about "not waiting for the storms to pass,it's about learning how to dance in the rain" then why am I the only one who is always all wet. I don't know and I have reached the point where I just don't care. I have spent a lifetime trying to figure out how to deal with stress and it's pitfalls, yes I have read all the selfhelp books, been to all the seminars and done all the meditation I'm ever going to do.

I have found the answers that all have searched for, for eons and eons people have have searched for the answer to coping with stress. Generations have come and gone and many a life has been cut short by the dreaded demon," STRESS"

Cavemen used a club to handle stress and marrige disputes, a temporary fix at best. Sure it quieted the little woman for a while and let out some primal aggressions but the long term effects on women, some might argue that the effects have had longer lasting conciquences, where brain damage and in some overzelous cases exwifes were invented.

Then the iron age came to fuition and men with shorter skirts then that are allowed on most public transportation today, gathered on hills with all the weapons they could muster and charged each other, snorting and screaming things that only make sense to humpback whales and a small group of wild african dogs.

This did wonders for the male tension release mechanism, that is if you where one of the lucky ones who survived with all or aleast most of your limbs intact, maybe you just got a flesh wound, like in the fleshy part of your lung. Sure you were fine about that but what about the newly awakened sexual frustrations? All that killing and maming got those guys all riled up. Hot and sweaty and bent on release they went home to... the little woman.

What about her stress? she spends months at home... alone, wondering if her man is going to come home whole or just some of the parts. There are only so many skirt sets made out of bear skins that she can put together before she needs some release of her own, so she gathers up what's left of the weapons, clubs and such and uses them on... her kids. This will explain why teenagers are... well teenagers, to those of you who have not raised one yet.

Her reward for waiting and keeping the home fires burning for the retuning, hoarding, pilaging, killing husband of hers, is to take care of the dirty, sweaty, panting, blood stained, snorting hungry animals as they arrive. When she's finally done with her husband, she now has to feed and clean the horses

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