the edge of reason isn't sharp, or even well-defined, really.
it's a blurred grey mess. and one totters through it, unaware of the dark abyss that lurks right beyond.
and to make matters worse, there is this fog of perpetual irritability, where certain words of certain people always sound like jibes... like being poked and prodded, till ultimately, one finds oneself at the edge of that edge of reason.
i've built myself a nice little den, here, at the edge of reason. i'm quite comfortable, even accustomed to the view. till someone does, or more likely, says something remarkably asinine. then it's like the wolf trying to pooh-pooh my little den down. of course, not that the wolf has any intention of causing physical damage. or that the wolf is aware of its intentions.
i didn't choose to live here. just as the wolf doesn't choose to effect in disaster in my neighbourhood. it's just an unfortunate turn of events, so no one is to be blamed.
except each other.
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