this bruise is probably symbolic

I have always prided myself on my peaceful ways, on using words and eloquence as a solution for all of my problems. I always felt that violence was the solution of the weak of mind, the silly, the barbaric. I am an educated and civilised man; I can solve my problems without raising a fist against my enemies.

Yesterday I started a fist-fight at the bar. It was barbaric, silly, and stupid. It was everything I felt. But I felt I had no choice in the matter. It had nothing to do with the man I fought; I barely remember him or what he did. It was everything to do with me. If you take away my education, my intellect, my civility, what do you have left? And even with all of that, what difference am I really making?

I allowed my confidence to waver. I wanted to make a difference, any kind of difference. So I hit him. I expected that I'd feel alive and empowered, that my ideals were nothing. But it was only when he'd walked away, leaving me on the wet pavement, did I realise that I had accomplished something far more important than that.

I got in a fist-fight with society, and society won. Society is remarkably resilient like that.