by Michael T. Heath

Created on: September 02, 2011

Same Time Tomorrow?

The easier revelations were taken to heart: how I could manage money better; what to do with my anger; why that liver stir-fry recipe should never, ever be trotted out again. The tougher things can't just be washed off like playground dirt. These are the thorns piercing my hide in uncomfortable places, reminding me daily where I fell extremely short along the line. The suicide. The bankruptcy. The reason she'll never... I can't chew them up and digest them at my leisure - these things harbor grief, pain and bits of my soul in places I can't readily cleanse out. Trying to, however, is grist for a short novel: the prayers and bold intent to make things right again only go so far. I could prostrate myself in front of the pope himself and I wouldn't get absolution. No, they are my parasites, clinging to my body as if I were some savory meat they desired and refusing to be dislodged under any circumstances. Drinking doesn't help (I've tried): it only postpones the inevitable guilt of hiding from my demons yet again. I have to face their ugliness with head held high, sure of my capacity to deal with certain disasters. When I grow up, I want to be a man.

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