Holy shit, this post. It's finally published.
I feel the grueling painful peeling off of the bitch lens through which I've been viewing her.
Psycho Jack prepares for his last stand with one last "fuck you" and makes a move in the direction of us and the cop, who calmly pulls the trigger. . .
My flank felt like an elephant was tap dancing on a hot railroad spike driven into my kidney.
I’ve only truly regretted the times when I stayed in my comfort zone, or ran back to it, when I knew damn well I was being called to greater things.
All of your quirks, broken dreams, character flaws and blemishes create a unique mosaic that is absolutely, authentically YOU.
So let’s break out the power buffer and polish the shit out of this turd. Sometimes life has the strangest way of . . . grabbing you by the throat and reminding you what your purpose is . . .