Russell Tupper.
I was in traffic this morning, holding her hand and planning some work-stuff out, and in the background I kept losing battles to shrug Russell off my mind. Is that English? Out of my mind? (See that’s the thing about us pseudo-ADD kids. Wandering minds.)
I know “bubbling under”. Lord knows I do. Folks who are on cliffs damn near daring someone to tip them over. The tipping point. Edgy. Edge-he. Pent up. I have a million phrases for it, obviously. What’s odd, is of all the tens of folks I know who are an hour, a day, a week, a month, or a year away from jumping or being pushed; none of them is female.
Coincidence? Maybe. Pattern? Probably.
Ladies are brought up told it’s unacceptable to sit with legs open, like a boy.
Gents are brought up told it’s unacceptable to talk it out, like a girl.
The more aunts, uncles and parentals hammer this into us, the greater the divide between he and she.
I digress.
Release therapy is my point. Try it out. Even Sam couldn’t handle the weight of the world on his shoulder.
Brucey 