Grieving Grief

Grief:  Pain of mind arising from misconduct from oneself.

All right, today I'm going to waste everyone's time so that I can rant privately, thus saving myself the embarrassment of apologizing to some people, places, things, and large corporations for indiscretions committed during a more public ranting; perhaps a whole series of public rantings.  I'll admit that it is going to be difficult to tell the difference from whatever it is I normally do here.  Sort of a semi-private releasing of demons.  My whole life is kind of a series of screen-shots (Ed. Note: Vacation City is near Los Angeles so I'm very hip to the whole film industry lingo) from old Twilight Zone episodes where no one but the main protagonist can see a wavering, indistinct, smoky wraith flowing from the body of whatever character is currently damned to hell.

When I worked I used to call people with whom I had an objection and make an ass of myself.  I learned - in lieu of the phone call - to write an email and then banish it for a few days to my Saved Drafts folder.  That way I could go back and look at it when cooler heads prevailed; inevitably, I'd think: "Wow, am I glad I didn't send that one."  Often I'd yell down the hall for SuperK - she'd pad into my office, read the note, gently suggest some edits, then some more edits, then mumble something about a "total rewrite."  After a bit she started looking up and saying simply: "You're not sending that."  I started to get suspicious that she wasn't actually reading the note.  Eventually, she stopped coming to my office, just yelling: "You're not sending that!" down the hallway.

Can I tell you how much grief I saved myself by pausing a couple of beats before running my mouth?  All the grief in the world, that's how much.