"My heart is broken 'cause my spirit's not free"

I'm going to see the recalcitrant brother. I don't know when, but it must be soon. I'd said that I was never going to go to Georgia to see him, because seeing him means seeing my nephew's family and I don't approve of their lifestyle. But, you know, they don't give a fuck that I don't approve of them being in the Klan. And no one is going to think that I'm running out to join the Klan if I end up at their house one evening. And I've got to see him, because, y'all, I'm so unhappy. I've been distracting myself from my unhappiness with all this cooter talk, but I'm at the end of things I can say about my vagina and I'm still miserable. The recalcitrant brother knows a lot about unhappiness. Unhappiness follows him around like a prison guard looking for any excuse to bring him to his knees. Yet, no matter how oppressive the unhappiness, the recalcitrant brother always has escapes. He'll look over at you, grin, and lead you out of it. And fuck me, I need someone to drive me out into the country and get me drunk on cheap beer while we argue over whether Judas Priest or Dio was a better shitty band and count constellations and laugh about stupid shit we did and are doing, and will, inevitably, do again. It's the kind of unhappiness that can only be cured by the presence of someone you don't know at all or the presence of someone you've known your whole life, and I'm not getting in cars with strangers.