I figured I'd do it again

I figured I'd do it again, although the malfunctioning I, C and J keys are going to make me wish I never started. Not to mention the sweat pouring down my face as I execute this weird command only because the water has been turned off for the foreseeable future. It was an odd evening last night. I was in bed watching a film based around Geoff Thompson's early days as a bouncer when the sound of someone trying to punch their way in to my bedroom aroused me. I say aroused, I mean startled. I understand, when I'm in my bedroom it's no doubt a fine place to be, but this person wanted in. Then my phone rung... The girl upstairs. She suggested I look out my bedroom window so I did.

Before I get carried away and push forth without any thought at all, revealing everything too soon, I should stop. Stop and tell you about the mundane. How I awoke after five hours sleep and donned my running gear to tackle the mud for just shy of five miles. I do this as regularly as possible. I do this for the same reason as I used to write... I now know that I can't save you with words. My breath has returned to normal now, and I'm craving food, but not too much. There's a gym session to fit in before too long. Fanatical? No. I don't know if you noticed but there's more of those bad guys than before. It's going to take a lot of stamina as well as a lot of strength and one fucking good punch. Anyhow, I digress not so successfully with romanticism again, which I'll leave to you 'sit on your arse' writing types.

So, I pulled the curtain back and it got warm. It got warm quick. There was the neighbours car, the other neighbours car, then Sarah's car, and then... about 15 feet away from the glass my face was pressed against were the flames. I left the house for the same reason we often tell people we need close to us to fuck off when we're stressed. Sarah's passenger side wing-mirror was melting. Then the bang came, one that incited a nervous laugh from me. One that incited another bang. I stood back and took a cigarette from one of the bystanders.

Well, you know the rest of the story... The fire service turned up, put out the fire. The police rolled up and took some photos of Sarah's disfigured wing-mirror for insurance purposes and took a condemning statement from me. After it, I realised that I should have probably told them to speak to me tomorrow, because after a good session at the gym and a few beers, you're ready for the world. And, boy did I give it them. Every violent altercation, threat and disturbance was reeled from my tongue; every suspected drug dealer, paedophile, thug and numberplate. I had no reason to hold back.

I tell my therapist that I feel that I'm constantly preparing for something, but I don't know what it is...