Colonel Mustard, In the Ballroom, With the Grenade

You know those days where somethings wrong and everyone asks you what it is and all you can do is tell them you're fine. Not the days that you actually ARE fine, but the days when it's just easier to say that than to really talk about it. Maybe even the days that you're not 100 percent sure what's really wrong. Those days...

Well I had one of those again. Sure I know what's causing what's wrong, but I'm not sure why I feel the way I do. Anybody haphazardly reading this and the blogs before it could tell you what's causing it. It's the same with CSI:Miami. About fifteen minutes in everybody knows whodunit, but the show ain't over till Lieutenant Caine figures out why and puts his aviators back on.

Clearly it was Colonel Mustard, in the ballroom, with the candlestick, but why? What was his motive? Whatever could have incited such rash and hasty reaction?
The problem with these questions is that they all assume that there WAS something that happened that actually gave him grounds(or at least gave him the feeling that he had grounds) to commit such an act. Does anyone ever consider that it was just that... and act, not a REact, but just a plain old act. Nothing leading to it but Colonel Mustard's own little world and Mr. Black's party just happened to fall on the night the Colonel snapped.

Listen to me, I'm sitting here comparing the complexities of the human condition to a board game created for children 8 years and up. Whatever makes sense, right?

Nothing makes sense anymore. None of it. I don't understand how people can show you one side of them one week and then flip a coin and decide that Dr. Jekyll's turn is up and it's time for Mr. Hyde to roll the dice.

I don't understand how you can see the truth in someones eyes when they tell you things and then the next day you see, plain as day, that it was not only a lie, but the worst kind. You know the kind, a truth that's been twisted, contorted, drowned, stretched, and held up to a light in just this way so that it seems a bit more acceptable. That's the kind of truth that would make you cringe, but instead makes you feel a pain in your heart for it. I hate that kind of truth. I hate it because it isn't what it claims to be. Impostor! Wolf in an injured lambs wool! How dare you?

I don't understand how people can toss that four letter word around like it's a Walmart football. It's not a toy! It's a grenade and if you're not prepared to hold on for the rest of your life then for Christ's sake leave it in it's box! These are hearts of flesh, ya know. They'll get ripped apart and blown all over the place to the point where you don't know what's heart and what's debris.

You fools... when will you ever learn.

When will I ever learn?