A Statute of Limitations
Surely, there is some sort of statute of limitations on anger, on unrelenting fury that grabs ahold of you at the most unexpected and unwelcome times. How can anybody continue to be angry about things that happened five, ten, fifteen years ago?
And when I ask generally, I mean specifically, about myself. I suppose there are some things that I can push into the background far enough to be beyond my reach. But there are some things that cannot, despite enough time having passed so that even I think the response outweighs the crime.
I was asked about the specifics by a friend. They don’t matter I don’t think, at least in this case, but maybe only because I don’t want them to matter.
Also, how can I be 31 and still writing like a teenager? Surely I’ll outgrow this phase.
