Can you imagine standing up frustrated, lashing out with all of your being, swinging your fists, exhaling spittle, hot tears rolling down your face...
Can you imagine this taking place in a dome tent? The type made of synthetic fibers with a cheesecloth material for your comfort in buggy spots. The type of tent called a "pup."
In the type I'm used to there's not much for standing room and I'm not even very tall. If I were to rise swinging with all of my temperament set to furious anguish or delirious irritability, I'm sure I would bring the whole thing down around me.
That's how I feel right now. Seething. Frothing. Looking for fight, hoping for passion, and locked in. Passively observing the world as my ideals and ideas and hopes and dreams hail a taxi and head off into the dizzyness of night time.
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