Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Thank you? A hangover story

I'm not in the habit of thanking things. Thanking people? Sure, in the moment of their nicety. But that whole think about or write down one thing you're grateful for every day is not my bag. I certainly don't want to be that person who squeals at the sun at 5am on a weekday, "Isn't it a wonderful day?! I love life, don't you!" That attitude is so bright it's blinding, and it pretty much pisses me off. But I wonder if I wouldn't be so angry all the time if I focused my thoughts on things I'm grateful for. Not that I'm an angry person or anything...

Well, maybe I am. This morning on my commute, I grunted rather loudly, "The fuck are you doing" to a sweet young girl on a pastel blue bike with a fucking-wicker-basket when she slowed down next to me. I barked at her because I didn't want to be responsible for her falling over like an idiot and hurting herself. I also barked at her because she basically whispered like a shy little fairy, "e-e-excuse me" when she was wobbling aside my stride; her timidity annoyed me. Why? She's acting like a shrinking violet in that moment to avoid irritating anyone, when simultaneously if she just spoke up, I'd get the message that she's coming by and I wouldn't give a shit.

That's not true; I would still give a shit. I wanted to be angry this morning. It was a beautiful morning: sun shining, breeze blowing, temperature mild, the air smelled like grass and water, the trees were green and my shoes were comfortable. But instead of focusing on that, I let my stomach churn with vile and spit acid at the first thing that came in contact with me.

Maybe instead, I just shouldn't drink during the week. A hangover is terrible for morale.

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