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06-26-03 - 11:11 p.m. The other night, when I wrote here that I'd lost my temper, I destroyed property. It was my first real foray into that confusing little world of vandalism and it wasn't nearly as exciting or therapeutic as I'd hoped it would be. I wrote about it elsewhere and received borderline adulation for my actions. You see, it wasn't just any random property I destroyed. It was the plaque commemorating Brent's hours of quality time spent with underpriveleged youth, the one at the basketball court the youth shelter devoted to his memory. I was in a fury already, and passing in by on the road made me flare up even more. I had to do it. I keep a heavy aluminum bat in my trunk (along with a glove and a few balls) because I'm a big fan of the batting cages. So I parked. Grabbed the bat from the trunk. Smashed the lock on the fence till it gave way. And then I destroyed it. I just kept bashing that damn thing until parts of it were nothing more than powder. I had to. That brass-plated lie could not be allowed to survive. I came to my senses, sweating and panting, a few minutes later, and ran like hell back to my car and floored it outta there. Nobody I've talked to thinks I should admit my actions...except Janet. She's my conscience anyway, and I pay her to contradict my own impulsive nature. It's her opinion that I should "turn myself in," explain everything, and offer to pay for the damage to the fence as well as a replacement plaque. But I'll destroy anything with his name on it. There's got to be somebody else at that center worthy of a basketball court. Preferably someone who didn't abuse his own children.
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