Confidential

Yesterday I felt blue and depressed. I had a tough day at the office. Several bad things happened to me. After work, I stopped at a grocery store, grabbed a can of nuts, a bag of beef jerky, and a six pack. My stomach used to look like a wash board. Now it's flabby due to my recent predilection for six packs, and bad knees. I can't run anymore. Anyway, I got home, flopped into my easy chair in front of
the TV, hit the remote, and started munching and drinking my sorrows away. But I didn't feel any better. By the time i got to the last can, I felt lonely as Hell. So I whipped out my iPhone, fished out a card from my wallet, and punched in the number.

Can I help you? A soft voice came on.

I'd like to talk with Ian Knowles, please.

He's no longer here. I am his replacement. You've used our service
before, I suppose.

Can we talk in confidence?

Of course, Con Fidence is my name. Talking is my game. What's your
name? Fire away!

Is Confidence your last name or first?

It's full name. Two separate words.

Ah, I see, Con as in convict or Connie?

A funny type. Good. I like funny people, but have to be real, not
funny ha ha. Con is short for Conrad.

We talked for over an hour. Actually, I did most of the talking. He just listened. He occasionally asked some questioned and made some surprisingly insightful comments. He turned out to be a good, caring listener. He said I could even stop by the office the next day if things got worse. He told me to stop making undue demands on myself and stop writing to that stupid asshole a million miles away. If I need to unwind, write to him instead. He further advised me to keep very busy and resume doing physical exercises.

So, here I am, trying to come to terms with my anger; with flashbacks; with thoughts of homicide, mayhem, and wanton destruction. I am also tryng to deal with a propensity to show off how smart and knowledgeable I am. So, I took the advice of Con Fidence and I am emptying my thoughts and feelings down on paper. He said if I keep doing that, one day I will find harmony inside me. One can write oneself to exhaustion. And an exhauted person has no energy left even to think of violence. All he wants to do is to rest and recharge his battery. The funny thing as I am writing these words, I don't feel tired at all. Instead, I feel invigorated and alive and indeed lighter. The sluggishness, the lethargy, the pre-thrombotic choke and
blockage, the malaise, all those shit are replaced by a sense of triumph and delight of seeing how my thoughts, my feelings are transmuted into symbols called words. The outside world and its attendant ills and bulkshit and nonsense seem so far away. I am now chortling with an irresistible calority and verve. I feel fluid and
the demon has beaten a retreat. I still see the footprints he left behind. They form the words: "I'll be back!"
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Note of the author: Sorry to disappoint you. You thought you were going to be regaled with a story about phone sex, didn't you? Oh, come on, do I look like the type who has to stoop that low to get some entertainment? What I need is not some cheap, loveless sex, but a relief from the torment of violent thoughts. After I wrote the above, I went to a library and ran into an acquaintance whom I hadn't seen for three years. I was astounded to see her look quite a bit younger than the last time I saw her. I complimented her and was told she
decided to be a true Buddhist and that meant to get rid of negative feelings and emotions specially hate and greed. Upon hearing that I felt much stronger and all thoughts of violence departed from me. I hope they were gone for good, but if they come back, I am ready to kick their ass. Oops, did I just intimate that I am into non- violence? Habits die hard, I guess. All right, I am not going to do
any kicking. Just weaving and sliding my way through. No more fighting. No more kicking asses. Cool, I am cool. Tonight, I know for sure I am into peace and serenity.