createdestiny (createdestiny) wrote,
createdestiny
createdestiny

I'm Not Jewish

me: My hamstring hurts.
bf: Are Jews allowed to have hamstrings?

I almost choked a bitch over a table in a coffee shop this morning. I was standing around, sipping my coffee, waiting for a table to open up. Someone got up to leave and the bitch (who had come in after me) and I both headed for the same table. He beat me because he was closer. I told him, "You just took that table from me." He said, "Why, because you were going to take it from me?" I hissed, "Whatever, Loser!" and I walked away. I would have left, but I was meeting friends who hadn't shown up yet. Jesus, I was fuming. After an eternity another table opened up, my friends showed, and still I had to sit 20 feet away from a man I wanted to murder. Half an hour later I fought the urge to apologize to him. I fought it because I'm trying this new thing where I don't apologize to people who have wronged me. Seriously, I used to do this---I thought I was being all Tao-like, water seeking the lowest path and all that self-abating shit. But I was a door mat and a fool. Maybe. I still believe in it, you know, for world peace and all. But do you see how this is? A man wrongs me and then I want to apologize to him? Forgive, yes. Apologize? Hell, no!

Guerilla Gardening is the answer.

I talked to a friend about anger. He said anger is at the center of his (and possibly mankind's?) creative impulse. Finding a way to channel anger into something positive is the challenge. In my 20s I wrote from anger. In my 30s I longed not to. But here I am, often pissed as hell, whether it's personal demons, hormones or laws of attraction I don't know. Apparently it's not going away, in spite of jesus, buddha, poetry, yoga, herbs, prayer, pills, nature, exercise etc. Therefore I will take revenge on my enemies by planting oleanders at night, in abandoned, neglected public spaces. Take that, bald coffee shop bitch!

Women are wearing their tits entirely too high these days. A co-worker told me last week that I needed to hike up my girls. I'm wearing a sports bra, for Christ's sake. My girls are riding high---80s high. Which is to the moon compared to the bra-less 70s. Thanks, Posh, you grapefruit-chested, pig-nosed, freak for making the rest of us look like low-riding plebeians.

Different friends bring out different aspects of my personality. With some friends I am soft, seeking illumination and resolution on the issues we struggle with inwardly. With others I am loud, crude, sarcastic, seeking cheap laughs and a way to make fun of myself and others. When these groups of friends are inadvertently brought together I scandalize one and confuse the other. This is how it's always been for me. It used to be deadhead friends vs punk friends, radical feminist friends vs right-wing "Libertarian" friend, now it's politically apathetic lay-abouts vs amped-up born-again-conspiracy-theorists, or flagrant gay guys vs Jesus freaks, or red necks vs vegans. It's a balancing act keeping these people from coming into contact with one another. Most of the time I just give up and don't answer the phone.

Jesus, I'm probably never going to be able to go back to that coffee shop on a Saturday morning without seeing the bald bitch. I'll probably see him all over town, now. He's probably on the fucking board-of-directors for the company I work for. I won't find out until the company Christmas party and then I'll be fired for some technicality. I should just slit my wrists now to avoid the agony of it all.
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