Brooding 101 

When I read of people, imaginary characters even thought they are, doing this or that when their thoughts weigh heavily on their minds, I wonder why I never do something when I'm troubled. Until I really start thinking about it.

First of all, I'm not very fond of brooding rituals. I can brood just as well doing the every-day stuff - sitting in my chair surfing the net, writing (like this), partying (one of my favourites).

Second, I actually do have my rituals, I just don't practice them so often. What else could one call my wild drives up and down mountain roads with the engine turned off (and sometimes without lights at night), the screaming at my beech-tree, the midnight walks through the graveyard and blowing out candles on my father's grave?

My rituals aren't cure and comfortable, like drinking of some special tea from some special cup while sitting in some special comfy armchair. My rituals are reckless and dangerous, full of anger and hatred. I don't listen to meditative music while musing in some warm and quiet place, or walk without umbrella in soft spring rain. I court destruction and vent my ire. No wonder I don't recognise myself in the charming and romantic contemplation of your average literary hero...