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Anger issues…

I think I have anger issues.

This morning’s stroll started out so placidly but it wasn’t too long before the steam began to build. All it took was a McDonald’s carton and a can of Bud Light a few feet from each other to set things off.

My bag-busting pile of junk from this morning. If the sheer volumes gets any larger, I'll have to use a wide angle lens to capture it all.

My bag-busting pile of junk from this morning. If the sheer volumes gets any larger, I’ll have to use a wide angle lens to capture it all.

And that was early on. As my bag became increasingly full (I now appreciate the relative elasticity of Harris Teeter bags) the anger came closer to a full boil.

The progression of expletives moved from one silent ‘damn’ to a mumbled “I don’t G-A-S’ to multiple full-blown – and aloud – “WTF?” Maybe I have walk-induced Turrets Syndrome.

The crescendo came when, in short order

My pick up bag was stretched to the max this morning. In the pecking order of things when bags are near capacity, I'll forego paper to pick up plastic. Always pick up plastic.

My pick up bag was stretched to the max this morning. In the pecking order of priority when bags are near capacity, I’ll forego paper to pick up plastic. Always pick up plastic.

and with scarcely a quarter mile to go, I stooped for a vitamin water bottle, a Coke can, a Dasani water bottle and two Budweiser cans plus a huge sheet of plastic.

I suppose it’s good my walks are in the early morning. That spares innocent passersby from hearing my imitation of a veteran sailor. My salty language vents some of the anger, but not by a hell of a lot.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

1 Comment on Anger issues…

  1. Mort Mortensen // May 25, 2013 at 2:40 pm // Reply

    You’re one of the least “salty” speakers I know David. It must have been bad.

1 Trackback / Pingback

  1. BLA BLA BLA SOMETHING ABOUT ANGER, LYING ABOUT YOUR JOB | UFMLL: How To Stop Being A Morally Lazy Loser

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