The older I get, the more experiences I accumulate–like anyone else, I go places, I do things, I meet people. Some of these experiences I may soon forget, whereas some I know I’ll always have with me. Often more significant than the experience itself is the emotions it engenders and how they carry forward–the mark it leaves, one could say. Human beings do feel emotions, and ideally one can accept their presence as not only part of life put a positive aspect. In certain circumstances, though, one just says “I wish I felt nothing” and is compelled to bury those feelings, for months or years, to stuff them so far down that one can purport to have forever discarded them. Buried items, though, have a way of resurfacing when one least expects it. The result seems to be acute anguish leading into a kind of wrenching, I’m-glad-nobody-sees-this catharsis.