And other times, I wish I could cut out my tongue to punish myself for my word choices that cause eruptions of flames and torrential rains and leaves me in a post-apocalyptic, self-admonishing hell.
In recent years, I find that I have become much more self-censored. What I would have said with little sugar or tact in the past, I coat in gallons of honey or simply don't say it at all. I have grown a type of filter that seems only to work when I least need it and when I need it most, manages to malfunction.
If only this filter had come with a control panel that would allow me to choose which situations or with whom it should shut me up. If only I had the self-control to hold my tongue before explaining or expressing something that I know will only result in devastation.
But instead, I find myself standing at a precipice, looking at the fall, and deciding it's worth jumping -- if it means that there is a chance someone can understand why I jumped.
So I jump, and I fall, and by the time I see the gathering clouds of smoke in the distance, giving evidence of the eruptions to come, it is too late.
Post-apocalyptic, self-admonishing hell, nice to see you again.