Let me paint a picture for you. You are driving with a friend, not a good friend, an acquaintance. It is raining. The friend is simultaneously driving, talking on the phone, chewing gum, changing the radio station, and knitting an afghan. The windshield wipers are on full speed, and it is only drizzling, so it is smearing shit all over the window and the only thing that could possibly be visible would be a meteor hitting earth. You are about to lose your shit. Lose it in a way that will cause this person to never want to speak to you again and henceforth refer to you as "the pscyho who caused me to hit a light pole." But, you don't want to lose this friend. So, you hold it in. To the point where you imagine tumors and other miscellaneous growths springing up all over your body from the suppressed rage. Because, you know, it has to go somewhere. When you finally arrive at your destination, you have popped a blood vessell in your left eye and have developed a tick. This friend gets out of the car and says, with a big, genuine smile, "well, that was fun!"
That was how I felt when I left work today. The whole way home I blasted Rage Against the Machine and vowed to update my resume.
I would like to take this moment to thank wine.
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1 comment:
Amen, brother.
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