The Wall

I am an emotional man.

I live in my emotions, emotion consumes me.

Emotion rolls off of me like sweat and leaves a trail wherever I go.

I like it that way. It is who I am to the core.

What I don't like is the wall I have to put up whenever I encounter other humans. The wall that creates the illusion that I am tough, I am in control, I am not subject to the whims and the power of my emotions.

It is like committing suicide. Every single day.

I have perfected the wall over almost 7 decades. It is made of titanium. Thin. It glides into place soundlessly. It is a miracle of modern construction. It protects me almost as well as my books and my poetry.

But it is uncomfortable. Not physically - psychologically.

It is a barrier between who I really am, and the human others perceive me to be.

I don't like to leave the house. One of the reasons I crave retirement is the freedom it will allow me to avoid other human beings. (Of course the biggest reason is my all consuming quest for dignity.)

The less I need the titanium, the more I can be myself and the longer I will live. That is a compelling argument for retirement. 

Extending my life is a pretty high priority. I want to stretch out what is left like silly putty, and piss off all those who loudly cheer on my imminent demise.

My goal is to achieve freedom in my life so I can embrace my emotions openly, instead of turning them on and off. I want to live in my emotions, live with my emotions. My assumption is that if given free reign, my emotions will fuel me like nuclear power. I will glow. 

Once the spigot is permanently turned on - no longer choked off for hours at a time -  the relationship between me and my emotions will become pure, tempered with white hot flame. I will become one with myself.

Heady stuff.

I am feeling deeply emotional today. I will roll with it.

I don't go back to work until 2:30 tomorrow.

I can wring a lot of usefulness out of an emotional run of that magnitude.