I am throwing a tantrum. Full on. Flat on my stomache, face down, fists balled, arms and legs flailing, screaming at the top of my lungs. And I am absolutely refusing to move.
And I know there is a paternal figure waiting patiently for me to stop so he can tell me that I can't have what I want right now, but it's not the end of the world; however, I am not done screaming and flailing. I am not quite done being mad about the fact that I can't have exactly what I want, in the manner that I want it, right this very second. I'm angry about the fact that I know that this tantrum is fruitless and won't get me anywhere, but it's cathartic and I'll continue until it is out of my system.
Just so you know.
Those Who Wander
12 years ago

