All right then, he is claiming the right to be unhappy. Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have dementia and cancer; the right to gain a bit too much weight, the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to be called out for his toxicity; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind. He claims them all. He will be savage at last.
Everyone has that moment I think, the moment when something so momentous happens that it rips your very being into small pieces. And then you have to stop. For a long time, you gather your pieces. And it takes such a very long time, not to fit them back together, but to assemble them in a new way, not necessarily a better way. More, a way you can live with until you know for certain that this piece should go there, and that one there.
