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My biography will be titled Cranky from the Humidity, although I hope never to suck as bad as David Lee Roth sucks. It was so moist tonight and the dogs wanted to sniff something every two inches and my thighs were all sweaty and it was just generally gross and irritating. Plus the whole time I was stewing about how the asshead whose ass I have been having to cover at work for the last two years is probably going to get a slap on the wrist for not bothering to do any work in forever and he'll do one small task and the clock will restart. It angers me. I don't like being angry. I used to be angry a lot, but then I got divorced and it got better. I feel suffocated by that feeling of rage and powerlessness. The blue pills mostly make it better, but sometimes I just want to break things. Another thing that makes me angry: Being spoken to as though I were stupid. I may be frequently goofy, but I'm not stupid.
Then, for reasons I don't understand, I started getting mad about the fucking short straw of a family I got stuck with. The genesis of the thoughts led to thinking about my grandmother, a crazy old alcoholic coot who chain-smoked and hated everyone. When she died, she left all her worldly goods to my mother and aunt. When my mother died, she was terminally mad at me so she left a buttload-sized trust fund to my monkey and nothing to me, not that I mind him getting something good that I couldn't have given him. But when I struggle with having no one but myself to depend on, I just want to slap people. Not even specific people, just anyone within reach.
If you ever feel impotent and angry, you probably want to avoid putting together RTA (flat-pack) furniture, because it's not very soothing.
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