i don't like my language when i talk to or about the haters. it's penetrating but it's not subtle.
it's not trouble i seek. in truth i seek the alleviation of trouble. but that is not always the path that opens before me. so i wish i could be more nuanced in my anger. when mister and i were swimming far out this morning i was thinking about these brutally blunt complicated interactions i have with haters. i was thinking how rare (though prevalent) they are, and how potent, due to the rarity perhaps as much as the violence. if it were happening all the time it would be normal and be dulled by normality. the haters are rare in the places we go, though when they come, they want control. and then they disappear. where do they go. who cares. may they disappear more frequently until they may as well vanish altogether. they won't. luckily, they don't have the will to be the omnipresent law they wish to be. 
and when they leave, ahh, i was thinking out on the beautiful water, other than the shadow left niggling in the air or fixed in my mind, it is as if they had never been. peace assumes the place they displaced.

my old man would abhor this thread that runs through my diary and life. though he could use the same spice in his own pithy epithet, and employ a far broader prejudice, and disdain, he would find me and my blog woeful and pathetic. he did when he was alive. maybe dad could have said it better. he wouldn't have said it at all. i think. but the diary evolves i believe, and even he might have, in a new life. this is unfair, to talk about him now, in this quasi-public way, for he can't answer, and might just be ashamed, but as he taught me in sharp and certain terms, life ain't. fair.

to be continued.
for dad.

i'm only trying to be me.