Mother fucker. One hell of a ride this last 12 fucking hours.
This morning my computer almost couldn’t connect to WordPress, the thin line of sanity I’ve been reeling out behind me as I navigate the woods of shit reality. One, two, three’s the charm and somehow (thank you goddess) everything connected. Barring me from my blog this morning would only lead to violence.
I almost killed a motherfucker last night. Seriously. Took everything in me to NOT fuck him up. In the end, people laughed at my reaction, they ignored me, and they sent me into an even deeper rage that still lingers this morning and if I should walk out of my apartment building today and SEE the fucker I ran into last night he WILL get tripped up and spat upon.
Feel like an ass just relating this, ’cause I know it’s one of those things that wouldn’t bother me so much if I wasn’t bipolar.
Had to run downstairs to the grocery store last night to pick up coffee for this morning. Easy peasy. Down 4 flights, in the store, yeah! it’s not too crowded. Slink back to the coffee isle; pick up two Lavazza packs. Turn, head to cashiers. The woman in the fast queue was ponying up her cash so I thought, great, less than two fucking minutes and I’m outta here. Well, the woman was exchanging the world or something, I don’t know. Ended up with 3 or 4 little cash transactions as the cashier ran or re-ran one item and either got money from the woman or gave it back. Annoying when I expected a fast transaction; all the other lines had people with only 5 or 6 items, so every line should have been fast last night. Ok, I thought. She’s an old woman doing SOMETHING. Give her a break. So I tried to relax and not get annoyed and failed miserably. Then….Before the old woman walks away, this ASSHOLE behind me (young immigrant from Northern Africa) skipped behind me and slammed his single beer in front of the cashier. He then dicked around paying for said beer – a grand mother fucking total of 55 cent – with his fucking ATM card.
My mouth hung open. I could NOT believe the balls on the this fucker. So I spoke up and said, ‘You know, if I spoke your language I’d tell you what a right mother fucker you are. You should have your fucking balls ripped off. How dare you be so fucking rude? Do you even KNOW rude, motherfucker?’
This elicited confused looks from said mother fucker and amusement from the cashier.
It will be many a day before I return to the store downstairs. I’ll do my shopping in one of three major grocery stores within a 10 minute walking distance, thank you very little. And I’ve more than half a mind to write out my tirade, translate it on google into Dutch, and post it to the goddamn manager of the store. Seriously. That shit’s gotta fucking stop.
It’s letting people get away with these little rude things that end up leading us to bigger fucking problems. That motherfucker should have got the SHIT beat out of him for being rude. What, did he think his ONE beer was more important than my two coffees? That he’d take less time than me? That my time wasn’t worth as much as his so it was ok for him to just skip me? Was he just a fucking Muslim who thought, ‘oh, it’s just a lowly woman, she doesn’t matter,’? What I find even more repulsive was the cunt cashier’s reaction. She saw what the fuck happened. She could have refused to ring him up first, and just take my stuff through. She could have told him he skipped his place. And she SURE as fuck didn’t need to laugh at my reaction over the whole fucking thing.
I was in kill mode. Shaking so bad I barely made it back up. Avoided getting in the lift because a kid was there and I knew I was exuding that terminator feel and I didn’t want to scare the little shit even tho he probably fucking deserved it for some shit or another.
I’ve prided myself on getting a little past that blank wall of rage. The kind that really does lead to me physically assaulting someone. Before, only my sister could enrage me to that point. Last night I learned it’s still in me, still ready to kill, WANTING to fucking kill someone because they ALL fucking deserve it. It’s still alive and awake in me now, barely contained. And now I get to spend the next I don’t know how many days trying to ease it back into sleep.
Ended up popping an Ativan last night. My bro gave me a few while sick to help me sleep. I’ve not wanted to take them; I know they’re addictive and I have enough problems sleeping as it is. But last night I needed to shut down and shut down fast. So I popped one without much thought. Managed to keep me asleep for 8 hours.
That calm place in me has never seemed so fucking far from where I’m currently standing.
And the whole ‘keep the smoking to a minimum’ shit was thrown out the fucking window. I came back home and SMOKED.
The best thing I can do for me right now is keep me occupied. If I’m not occupied, I think, and when I think, I get angry. I’m mentally filling up my weekend. Walk, lotto card, get the GOOD cocoa from Albert Hein at Hesseplats, feed the ducks, come back and load up my groove box and start getting it ready for live play. Fuck if I’m gonna sit around any fucking longer. I’ll take my new music out and play it for fucking FREE to get it out there. At least it will get heard. And there’s always loads of places that will let you play music for free. Just as many as there are publishers who’ll take your writing for free. Fucking exploitative fucks.
At least when I’m listening to my own music I can’t be angry. I got it too RIGHT for me, which still astounds me since I wrote all of it when I was depressed. So off I go to soothe the bear that’s still growling and scratching at the world…