Anger, upset, disappointment, and frustration come up all at once
along with physical components: lips pouting, breath inhaling
sharply hissing through my teeth. A sound comes out of my mouth:
"Bugger!". The first one is automatic. Then I add two more:
"Bugger! ... BUGGER!".
I consider writing to be a freedom not an attachment. I consider
one of the best uses I can put my freedom to is to write. I'm
standing here, facing the empty passenger seat in my car, and I
clearly see I'm attached to what I consider my freedom
to be. There's no lying about it. It's not a debate. The jury's
back. The verdict is in. I see it clearly. And I don't like what I
see. I'm humbled. There's a measure of chagrin in
being presented with absolute proof.