Let Go, Let Flow

There is a book I love called "Lucas" by Kevin Brooks. I read it a while ago. The first page, however, has one line I will never forget.

The father tells the girl to cry herself a story.



Last night, I began to think about some of the things in my life that have affected me greatly.
Those few certain things that I cannot fully talk about with others.
I have narrowed it down to three things:

My father
My current relationship
My first job

I thought about 'crying myself a story' and the thought scared me to death.
Well, it scared me enough to make me finally go to bed.
I had finished reading "Wicked" and started reading the latest Augusten Burroughs book and figured that after looking inside my head for a little bit was enough to make me say goodnight to dear Mr. Burroughs and sleep.
(Being inside my own head for more than ten minutes is, for the most part, a terrifying journey.)

Today, I woke up and I still wanted to 'cry myself a story', so I chose work.
I would write all I could about my old job and then, let that place finally die.
No longer would I resent anyone, or myself for what happened.
I would write it all out, and then I would be done.
I figure if I can do that, then maybe (MAYBE) I could move on to the harder subjects.


Plus, I used to tell many stories about my job when I was still in school and people always told me to write a book about it. Well, here goes.
My first attempt at a book.
A difficult piece of my history will be the topic.



Bright side: Even if the book is a pile of garbage and I never want to show it to 'the world', at least all the crap that happened will be off my chest and in a papery grave.