What can one say about the things one thinks when in trouble? In a tight spot? Usually nothing, most of the time they are cheap musings, springing weakness, nevertheless valid.
Then it all goes away, the trouble, the things… not suddenly, but timely. Dare say periodically. And although one would never seek all the trouble again at that point, he is equally mystified and entangled. Because now he is, kind of, empty, but not relieved. Empty is also sad. You can not fight emptiness. You just wait the period to wrap around? Perpetual self-pity. Dead-end.
