My original journal was called [i]Tallying[/I]. It was a tally chart, embellished with vague notes to begin with. But the longer I kept it, it grew and grew.
It began as a way to record my fights with Zev. I tallied them off. Each of [i]his[/I] outbursts. Each time [i]he[/I] was unreasonable. Though now, looking back…
Upon reflection. It was me. It was me all along. I was passing the book. Worming my way out of it. Not taking responsibility. It was me. It was my tally chart of [i]my[/i] outbursts. [i]Mine[/I]. My own. Nobody else’s. And I admit to it now. The journal is lost and the tally is missing. But, I, [i]Mister Bifrost Janger[/I], do hereby claim that [i]naughty list[/I] as my own. My name is at the top. Circled and underlined thrice.
Misdemeanours. Offences. Delinquency. Misdeeds. BAD BEHAVIOUR. RUDENESS. Impulsive. Petulant. LACK OF DISCIPLINE.
IT READS LIKE MY SCHOOL REPORT FROM LALELDAN VILLAGE!
Twenty four Winter’s and I [i]still[/I] refuse to grow up.
But, for all of my [i]deficiencies[/I], the one [i]virtue[/I] I manage to cling onto is my complete and utter inability to lie. I am honest – to a [I]fault[/I]. A large fault. Huge. Some people say that they cannot lie because their face or eyes give them away. For me it is face, eyes, hands, mouth, shoulders… It is my body. My being. My tongue. My brain. My heart.
I cannot lie. It screams forth from my pit and my pores. I write it across the sky. [i]Mood lightening[/I].
So, I thought I’d start my chart again. Though, no falsehoods this time – this tally is [i]mine[/I].
I had rather a spectacular outburst yesterturn. Even by my standards. I had already resolved to throw the music box to the bottom of the Well. But I didn’t get that far. No. Everyone sent up their lanterns and then they started up their own boxes. And the symphony rose up around me; a [I]discombobulation[/I] of mocking chimes nipping at my ears. Unfortunately I have the emotional regulatory skills of a toddler. So, I snatched my own music box out of my pack, raised it high above my head, and brought it crashing down onto the cobbles.
I smashed it. I smashed it into a thousand pieces. And just to be sure of the fact that it was indeed [i]dead[/i], I stamped upon it’s ruinous body. Irreparable. It will never [i]sing[/I] again. I made sure of it.
I would start the tally at [i]One[/I]. But for the magnitude of my tantrum I’ll scale it up to a [I]four[/I]. I wouldn’t make it higher because I didn’t yell or cry or anything like that.
And then, I will also factor in the other outbursts/compulsions I have had of late. So… Seven?
No. No, in fact. Eight.
Actually, scratch that. Might as well round it up to a nice round [i]ten[/I].
[i]Ten[/i]. We shall start the count at [i]ten[/i].