Forbidden

I have just engaged in a horrible, horrible act. I know that really does not come as a surprise to anyone, but this time it surprises me quite a bit. I realize that I have done mind numbingly bad things in my past. Things that really do not need to be dredged up every again, things that the light of day need to continue to not illuminate. However, this particular act of mine is above and beyond my usual bad behaviour. I did not kill anyone, or commit any sort of crime of violence, but I still feel the shame of it all. I certainly feel like I have done something terrible, my mood has darkened, and I think I might need to drink myself silly, or just go to bed right now. The unclean feeling that I have, and the bad taste in my mouth just do not seem to want to go away. They linger like the last drunk at a New Year's Eve party that you finally have to tell "dude it is 4 a.m. go home, and go to fucking bed already." I am not sure that I am going to be able to remove this particular stain on my soul. I feel like a criminal sitting in a chair across the desk from the duty sergeant who is going through my rap sheet, and making little "tutting" noises. The look of contempt on his face as he looks up from my police blotter up at me makes me want to curl up into a very small ball, and hope that he forgets I exist. I understand the suspense must be killing my patient readers as they ponder what it is I could have done that is any worse than things I have done in my past. The good news is that the only true victim of this "crime" is myself. Rather poetic that I have done all those horrid things to other people in the past, and now here I am doing horrid things to myself. Guess I wanted a change of pace. The crime (kind of overly dramatic, but hell I am in a mood), that I am guilty of today is simple, it is censorship. I just brought the iron hand of the censor down upon my own fool self. I spend a good two hours writing an extremely long blog post about something that I a) feel strongly about and b) is a very good insight into my life (trying my best to follow Coleridge's dictum), and then I censored it. Not only was it very long, and very personal it was fairly well written. For once, I took some time over a post, and chose my words carefully. I would not say that I was overly impressed by the end result, but I was at least slightly proud. Like a new father would feel, I suppose, until he his told that his "baby" is some sort of beast. I guess I should take some solace in the fact that I had the good sense to realize that posting it was not really the best plan. I have in the past, cut my nose off to spite my face just on general principle. Perhaps, as I approach my fortieth year (good god, I am old!), wisdom may finally putting in an appearance. A part of me believes that, but the bigger part of me is disgusted by my actions. I feel like a moral coward, and let me tell you it is not a pleasant feeling. It is not like I just took parts of the post out to keep it safe. I did not change the names to protect the innocent. I did not try to make it deliberately vague so that people could read it, and still not know exactly what I was talking about. I did not do any of those simple things, though to make it vague would have been virtually impossible. No, I cut the whole fucking thing! I did not censor, I executed. I did not try to excise part of it to make it where it could be posted. I took an axe to it not a scalpel. So now I feel like I have stolen the crown jewels, and pawned them off to buy a really expensive label maker. Like I took my grandmother's retirement check, and blew it on the ponies. Maybe one day I will screw my courage up to the sticking point, and post the damn thing anyway, but for now it stays an undiscovered country.