At what point do you admit that if it’s you against the world that you must be wrong about something? If you are constantly angry, if you constantly feel slighted, if every day is a fight – at what point do you stop to think:
I must be
about something —
For every four days of fighting, you have two of apologies and one that really doesn’t seem so bad. Then the final night passes, and it all starts again from the beginning like a broken record that keeps spinning the same lilting melody. Your life becomes this daunting, unfulfilling thing, and you can’t help but to wonder why?