I've always hated blogs. I never understood their purpose. Why on earth did anyone want to write on this thing? Much more, who the hell wants to read this? Not even me. Then I realized after today that it was the perfect place to vent. I could say what I please and exactly what I thought without worrying about offending anyone. Well...unless it's about you and you're reading this. But hey, that's your call. :)
Today was the shittiest day I can remember in a long time. On the other hand, nothing major happened. No one died. No one got hurt. No one even cried. Yet, I wanted to deck every asshole around me. It's a shitty Tuesday morning. It was one of those days I knew was going to be shitty, where you wake up and you just feel it. I knew I should have just crawled right back into bed and waited for Wednesday. I'm driving to work in the rain and I notice that the worst drivers have reached a new level of shitty. I can't explain it. There has to be some narcotic in the rain that makes people act like complete drunkards. If you know me, I just used narcotic and drunk in the same sentence--clearly proving I have no clue about either subject if I'm pairing them together. There's this belief that women are worse drivers than men. I don't know about that. What I do know is that the female drivers look as if they suddenly forgot where the hell they are going and wondering how the contraption they are sitting in seems to get them from point A to point B, while male drivers cut you off --knowingly. Those males always turn around to give you this look of "Yea what, I know I'm an asshole. What you gonna do about it." Too bad I can't replace the horn in my car with a gun that shoots nails into your tires as your smirking your ass over the Key Bridge. Of course something like this is annoying, but it wouldn't send me over the edge--not until today that is.
Not surprisingly, I'm late for work. I park my car in the lot, grab my bag and make a dash for the building--only to realize I forgot my damn cell phone in the car. I drop the bag near the parking attendant's window, run back--only to discover I forgot to bring along the keys. Again, I run back to the bag. The parking attendant officially thinks I am insane--or plain stupid. I grab my cell, pick up my stuff and make a run for the building. The timekeepers were everywhere and I just didn't want to deal with another person complaining about tardiness. It was the day I knew to stay inside my cubicle and avoid contact in case the dragon in me escapes. I also couldn't take it if one more female co-worker asked me if I had a date or if I was planning to eat today. Moreover, I might just kick the manager who decides to point out the obvious to me yet again as if I'm a non-English speaker in Special Ed.
Anyway, I get to work and plop down my stuff--only to realize I left the damn powerpoint presentations on the attendant's window in the lot...in the rain. Damn it. I needed them for a meeting today. So I run back to get them. I have become free entertainment to the parking attendant. He's having a ball watching me. Of course, who wouldn't when he's forced to sit inside a 4 by 7 glass box telling people it'll be $12 bucks for the day --for 10 hours straight. It's now around 9:45am. I log in to Oracle calendar--to find out my powerpoint meeting is not today but instead, tomorrow. There goes my literacy degree. Perhaps I am the foreigner in Special Ed.
I had enough. I couldn't take it anymore. I do get mad. I realized that all I do is wrap it up, store it somewhere inside, and hope that it dies of suffocation and I get over it. I never want to be the petty person who complains about the smallest offenses. Get over it I tell myself. It's not that big of a deal, you're being a brat. I forget the feeling of being mad eventually. Now I realize that although my hormones are back on track, I never forget the offenses. The bad points begin to add up against someone and I'm slowly counting how many times he or she has been a complete butthead. I begin seeing patterns. I probably make it too easy anyway. That's my fault. I don't complain when I should and I let 5 incidences slide only to halt on the 6th offense. I guess I always believe that somehow, it'll be different the next time. She/He is sorry and it won't happen again. This was a special case. So, I reach the breaking point somewhere. Somewhere I wake up and I realize things haven't changed.
Combined with a bad day, I'm ready to deck any poor victim around me. Funny, I never wanted to deck anyone until today. I don't think I can for that matter. I'm five feet and my arm probably feels like a muppet hitting you. But today, I wanted to deck every asshole that cut me off on the road, forgot about dinner plans, pointed out the growing zit on my face, overcharged me for my meal, replied sarcastically to an innocent question, didn't text me back, or just breathed anywhere around me. I was tired of being run over. I was mad. And the anger was seeping out. I could feel it. Every word coming out of my mouth was a curse word seething with sarcasm and bitterness. My face is hot. I just wanted someone to say sorry for once--and actually mean it. Better yet, quit being the inconsiderate butthead. So the anger comes out, among other things out of my mouth. I'm not holding it in. I no longer give a crap if I've offended or hurt anyone's feelings. I no longer care that I look insane and not the calm, cheerful, and smiling girl you usually see. I just needed to let it out. And suddenly I feel better. Well, for the moment at least. Then I feel even worse. I hate the fact that I can't even be mad and feel good about it. I hate myself even more. I feel ugly for how I behaved. I see myself with my hands crossed and my feet stomping on the ground asking someone to give a shit --and I feel utterly ridiculous. I don't like being mean. And I'm mad yet again for feeling guilty about being mad!
It's late and I'm driving back home. The rain hitting my car is almost soothing as corny as that sounds. I don't even know what song is playing on the radio. I'm tired and I want to rest my head on something. More than that, I wish someone would hug me. Nothing major happened today. Again, no one died or lost a limb. But it's just one of those days where I got tired of behaving. I realized that I just need to let it out. I can't let it bottle up inside me. I'm tired of understanding all the time. I'm tired of putting others first before me. I always feel bad if I've hurt someone's feelings or made her feel guilty about something. So I hold everything in...until one day I explode. I can't do that. I already know I look crazy when I explode out of nowhere.
Yet I know that nothing will change tomorrow. I'll continue to smile, behave and try to understand the other side of things. This probably enables people to treat me like dirt even more I realize. I can't be any other way. Being a complete bitch and psycho feels unnatural and exhausting. I want to make those around me happy. (This is where I get corny and cliche) I enjoy making people happy and adding something to their day. Yea, I actually do get a kick out of it and I don't expect anything back. I know people say that all the time but I don't mind being there for someone. And if it means I have to wait 5 hours in a restaurant because it's her favorite, drive out of my way to pick up some Super Pollo for him while he's working, or even struggle with a 7 foot leather couch into a 5 foot door for her apt-I'd do it. I love my friends. However, it's those that I let in my heart who seem to know exactly what to do to play me. (I'm being general because not all my friends do this) I always find a way to justify the act. I'll say they didn't mean it. I'm being irrational. I'm over thinking things. This works especially well when he gives me a smile or she hugs me and tells me forgive her. I can't stay mad. I care too much. And perhaps that's my problem. I. Care. Too. Much. For someone who might not even care about me at all.
I park the car and go inside. I'm glad Tuesday is over.
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