Would we be for better baby, would we be for worse?

There's probably a scientific theory to explain what I went through last night.
I had a choice between knowing something terrible or not knowing at all. The decision of whether or not to accept is a simple one. Finding out that a terrible piece of information exists is not easy to accept. It'd be like driving in the country and seeing a funnel cloud: you can either remain alert and decide what mechanism of survival to deploy, or you can shut your eyes and pretend nothing is going on.
Instead of sitting in the dark, letting my imagination describe the monster in my closet, I turned on the light. Unfortunately, the face of this beast is far uglier than I had anticipated: its claws are long and its hold is steady. Its powers of intimidation don't lay dormant with its hibernation. It is disgusting.
Now, hungover or not, I want to vomit. I slept for three hours in what seemed like a wink. My head has a new area of concentration. It is a basement to the pre-existing first floor and it is full of men busy at work on a project with plans that I am unfamiliar with.
My anger is to the brim but the blanket of confusion and indecision is serving as a calm. Do I say forgive and forget? This is ancient history, right? But a foundation of lies can't build the truth, right?
This is very frustrating. This is a test, I'm sure. Not a blatant test-- it's not a test for the sake of testing. It's just a thing... that doubles as a test. Can I drop the illusion that I was so comfortable with? Was it an illusion? Am I trusting the right people here?
All I can think about is puking. This is bad. What's worse is that this page has turned into a confessional of sorts. Definitely not the intended purpose. Maybe I was born a decade late and was destined to be in an emo band or something. I don't know.
My mind is cluttered. What I will do tonight is buy a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of bourbon and clear a few things up. Just me and my head. And Dave, Matsuo, Juan, Earl. You know. People. Woj.
Driving the Stella helps. I never understood how a person could go for a drive as a way of meditating. Now I do. Driving my Cadillac isn't particularly engrossing-- there's no art, just touch and go. With the Stella, you have to let your mind absorb the machine. You can't use a cell phone or listen to music. It's great. It provided an excellent break from being pissed off.
Anyways, to sum all this up, I'll go back to the age-old debate: do you look under your kid's mattress to see if he's reading Playboy? Remember, you might find more than you hoped for, like your kid's bong or meth lab. Ignorance, in certain cases, can be blissful in trivial matters such as relationships with the ones you love.