Last stop Despair, the next stop is Anger Central.
Stand clear of the doors please!
Today has been and is still a very ANGRY day for me, for some valid reasons, but none of which should fill me with a burning rage that is currently boiling and humming beneath my surface.
If you were in my local Tesco Extra earlier, you’d have seen a normal, slightly harried looking woman looking for something to go with her home made pesto. You might even have smiled at me (some bloke did), and I would have returned that smile (and I did), out of politeness, but you would not have probably sensed that it would only take the very slightest provocation for me to take your head, plus the entire roof off the building with my soaring, volcanic, bottomless rage.
The cuss word commonly known as ‘see you next Tuesday’ seems to have taken the place of the word fuck, and is getting pretty commonplace here in ye old London town, that said, I don’t tend to use it very often. Let’s face it, if c*** replaces fuck, what replaces c*** when you need to say something really offensive?
But today, my friends, must have been St. C’s day as there was a lot of it about.
Like one of the shrinks that kept asking me questions she didn’t like the answers to, then used every passive aggressive trick in the book to get an apology out of me.
She didn’t succeed.
Like the bloke on eBay who claimed the item he’d bought from me was substandard and scratched, when the photo of it showed that it was neither of those things.
I proved him to be a liar but gave him a refund, confident that the universe will take it off him tenfold. I hope. It had BETTER.
Like my brother and cousin who constantly block me from their little clique, just to get a rise out of me.
I won’t try and engage anymore.
Like the woman who spoke over and interrupted me every time I tried to speak at a group lunch today, simultaneously spraying me with spittle whilst doing it.
I refrained from forcing her cake and napkin AND fork into her ignorant, tactless, intrusive gob, and escaped as soon as I could.
Like the guy who nearly knocked a little girl off her bike, such was his hurry to park.
I dragged him out of his car and slammed his head with the door repeatedly, Big Chris stylee.
Actually I didn’t. But I did give him the ‘dickhead’ salute by way of compensation, much to the approval of said kid’s justifiably outraged mother.
It seems everyone jars with me right now, and that I’m incapable of tolerating my own species, but I’m the only common denominator, so I’m starting to think that divorcing the rest of the populace is the only answer. Or turning to the bottle. Or leaving this life altogether, which led me to this little number.
Now where’s my cocktail shaker?
And now one of my cats has just puked all over my bed, the little….sod.
C***? No siree. Not my Charlie. You see, I love him so much that I’d probably forgive him anything.
There may be hope for me yet 🙂
So, Life, things had better change, you’d better stop rejecting me at every turn otherwise we’ll be going before the courts tout suite.
And it won’t be Judge Rinder.
It will be JUDY, OK biatch?
You have been warned.