Bitter

I am incredibly bitter right now. The kind of bitter that wells over into mean, snippy, and downright cut throat cruel if given the opportunity. The kind of bitter that seeps into Facebook updates like "Need anything punched? You're in luck, I have a right hook for sale. May not be great, but comes cheap." and "Is already thinking about celebrating the long held art of the happy hour today - anyone up for after work cocktails?" at 9 in the morning. I only partly know where it comes from, and that is a part I have no energy to deal with. So I sit and stew in my bitterness. I try and leak bits of it out through a drink here and a drink there. Through curling up with a book for 2 hours instead of TV or the bar. Through avoiding eye contact and conversation with others around me, because the last thing this bitterness needs is someone who wants to talk about it.

But still it builds. And I know it will burst like a rot filled dam at the most inopportune moment. Like it has every. other. time. I'll fill with gin and lash out, tired of holding all my scathing comments about the world and those around me back from the freedom of speech said out loud. I'll carry around the label of a mean gin drunk for awhile, knowing inside it's got nothing to do with the gin (or the beer, or the whiskey) but not wanting or being able to explain it to anyone.

Or maybe not. Maybe this time will be the time that I find the invisible valve to leak the bitterness out safely. Maybe this will be the rage that is able to find an anti-venom that is quiet and painless. Maybe this time the only ones that know will be the ones that stumble across this rant. Maybe this time.