The only thing that motivates me most days is anger, not love or money or sex or competition, just anger. I like the feeling that my head is about to pop off.
When life is smooth I’m basically a human meat loaf.
It’s most often people on Facebook who do me the favor of pissing me off, since I am a social misfit who only leaves the house when absolutely necessary.
Today a woman named Lisa is asking how long her husband gets a free pass before she can call him an asshole. They’re on their way to his mother’s funeral.
When someone I love dies
(and I’m assuming he loves his mother since I seem to be in the minority regarding this whole “My mom is a c*nt thing”)
do not f*ck with me. I am just stupid enough to cut a real live beloved person out of my life on the way to a real dead beloved person’s funeral.
I do not dig narcissism even though I’m sure there are times I’m her poster child. I just hope when I’m behaving in such a manner that someone will be kind enough to tell me, even if it means they need to trip me to get my attention.
* * * * *
Other things that piss me off:
1.) Politics. No one changes anyone else’s mind.
But if you put it in my face as if your opinion is the only one that counts I will hate you with a vengeance, often silently. Then I might possibly explode at some unknown time at which point you will realize it’s happened by the flying body parts and bloody screams.
2.) Adorable nicknames for “Mom” and “Grandma,” even though my own son calls me “Ma” and “Mama.”
I’m torn over the hypocrisy. The only difference is I did not design my own cutesie moniker, he started it in his teens. Why does it bother me so much, when young mothers deem themselves “Mama” and grown women call themselves “Meme” (a word I do not know how to pronounce) or their husband “Pop-Pop”?
I have not a single clue. Please help.
3.) I know it’s intoxicating to be a young mom. However, is it necessary that with every breath taken I must be reminded my ovaries have dried up and my child has moved across the country? It brings up a bitterness in me that’s embarrassing. I want to scream,
“Just wait! You’ll see!”
4.) At least every other day I begin screeching over a woman who complains constantly that men are looking at her teen daughter, winking at her, lusting over her, being inappropriate. Next time she posts it’s a picture she has taken of her own child’s ass in tight ripped jeans and a comment about her “beauty.”
For the life of me, I cannot look away from this accident scene.
The most amazing thing is that everyone doesn’t realize we all love our children and believe them to be beautiful. Some actually think theirs is somehow more special, uniquely superior. I want to spit on those people and scream, “Every child is gifted, you f*cking moron! Even you!”
5.) Interminably happy people. It makes me laugh to say this because I realize how incredibly stupid I sound, how unappreciative. I am a curmudgeon, there is no question about it. My pessimism began as a child (for good reason) and it’s not going anywhere.
I’m probably a little or a lot jealous of people who don’t realize the earth could shift at any moment. I admire those who realize it’s true but just refuse to let it stop them.
Some days I come close.