Anger

I am an angry person.

Not really angry as in being mad at something or someone, but angry as in that deep-rooted unhappiness that, if I am not careful, might just slowly consume me, inside out. And then? Then I turn into this heinous, scary old woman who spits at everyone and waves my walking stick at little kids walking past my house. Not exactly a very pretty picture, right?

So I have to be careful. Afterall, it's not like anyone else can be careful on my behalf. I don't really want to go through what my mum went through. She was unhappy for a large part of her life, not that I can blame her, and only realise partial happiness in her in her 50s. And I meant it, partial happiness. It will take a while for her to get over some things before she can be totally happy.

I guess no one can be totally happy, just when you thought that life is good, something happens to throw everything into the toilet bowl. It's like stepping into shit when you are all dressed up, almost reaching a party, and having the shit splattered on the edge of your clothes. Spoils everything, doesn't it?

The thing now is to deal with it.