Pent up

500,000 tons of concrete damming millions of gallons

snow capped volcano struggling to contain a billion psi that broils from somewhere inside

angry and tired and frustrated and sad

silently crying and bitterly laughing

not because I am alone or because no one cares

they do -- I just don't know how to tell them

what I am feeling.

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And then I almost do cry, only not from rage or hurt - but real tears because I may soon have to decide whether my dog is in too much pain to continue living. She is next to me sprawled on her blanket, her dark eyes twitching as she tries to stare up at me. Eyes that ask me why everything hurts, why I can't make it better, trusting me for what is best. She had her annual summer haircut a few weeks ago, so she looks sort of silly for a golden retriever. One ear flopped over her face, her side heaving with each breath - she's given up trying to keep her head off the ground. It's a small thing perhaps - "just a dog" - but anyone who has been here before knows that it is more then that. She's my first dog, the puppy I dropped when I was 12 but forgave me the very next instant. Walked with me, played football and soccer with me, rode in my car, hunted easter eggs, ate christmas paper, and always welcomed me home.

Ten minutes ago I was too angry at anything to speak, but now just by looking at me she's made me forget half of all the rubbish.