.
The Bump on The Log

I made the effort to go to my office today at the University. I brought all of my comforts... honey toast, brewed a big pot of flavored coffee, had my pipes and several pipe tobaccos, and plenty of work to accomplish and perform.

I sat. I drank one cup of coffee. I lit my pipe once and then quickly set it aside. I looked around on the Internet for a few minutes, not really reading much of anything. I layed my head down on my arms and was quiet for a while, until the dam broke and the tears started to well up and flow down my cheek into my moustache and beard, the sobs started and at first were slow and rhythmic but grew deeper, harsher, more shrill and more desperate. I could feel the extreme contortions in my face as it grew hot and flushed from the wave upon wave of emotion. If I had looked at myself in the mirror, I know I would have been red-faced, my eyes swollen and puffy, my cheeks moist, my beard matted with tears. My sobs turned into gasps, and more and more saddness and despair eminated from deep within my soul. the low pitched sobs became tighter, higher pitched and were more and more histronic. My hands were clenched and white, as if I had held them so tight I had restricted blood flow. The wails that I made contorted my mouth and my whole body felt tight, pent up and filled with rage, sorrow, despair. After a spell, the gasps grew quieter as I could not sustain the energy and I sat there, the tears still pouring out of my eyes, my head resting on my arms as I lay them upon my desk.

During my life, several women have stated to me that crying helps them feel better. In no way is that true for me. Crying does not feel like a release for me, it does not help me to feel better. It drains me further, dessimates and dessicates me and my soul. I feel hollow, empty, and brittle after I cry.

I sat there, my head in my hands for several hours, not moving, not thinking, not anything. At 3pm, I got up, I shuffled some papers into my briefcase, shuttered the door behind me, walked through the lab, closed that door as well, walked down the stairs, and out of the building. I walked to the parking lot and my vehicle. I drove home.

I feel I am dead, a walking corpse.

PipeTobacco