It’s always the not-so important things that bother me the most.
For example, one Thursday afternoon a friend and I wandered through the library looking for an open “study room”. These are rooms in the sides of the library that are almost sound proof (as opposed to the upstairs rooms that are sound proof) and that you’re allowed to talk in (as opposed to the upstairs rooms where you’re not allowed to). They’re specifically for groups of 2 or more.
Well, they fill up pretty quickly. I don’t know people at this school even though I’ve been attending for three years but my friend recognized two women in a far corner room. We asked if we could also study there. One girl had her ear phones in her ear, the other just had her nose in her book. I set my phone on the table. It buzzed once. One time. I hadn’t got a text all day. The chick with her face buried in the book looked up at me and said “is your phone going to do that every time you get a text?”
Is your fucking pencil going to sound like nails on a fucking chalkboard every time you write an integral sign? Is your voice going to sound like a fucking bear cub with it’s leg caught in a trap every time you open that gaping mouth of yours? Are you going to keep fucking whispering to your friend every five fucking seconds?
What kind of dumb ass question is that?
My blood boiled, as usual, and I was ready to “Is Wayne Brady Gunna Have To Choke A Bitch?” the shit out of her, as usual.
Instead, I responded, “I’ll put it on silent right now.”
I know I shouldn’t really care about all the attitude in her voice, and I understand we were the ones who entered their room, but she could have kindly asked, “can you turn your phone on silent? Sorry, it gets on my nerves” or something.
I mean, don’t get pissed off at me because you don’t understand your calculus homework. That sounds like a personal problem.
See why it’s just so much easier not to talk with people? I don’t have to deal with attitudes or stupidity or promises or anything. If you’re only ever with you, the only thing you have to deal with is yourself. I mean, that’s a challenge in itself, but at least if you cop an attitude with yourself, you can slap yourself without some cop charging you with assault.
So maybe I have a slight irritability problem. The smallest things light my very, very short fuse; it’s always been that way. If you do something to piss me off, chances are I’ll remember it even when I shouldn’t. That girl probably couldn’t recall that day in the study room, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
I try not to hold grudges against people. Just because I’m mad at them, doesn’t mean I’m seeking revenge or that I’m obsessing over their stupidity. Regardless, I can’t say with confidence that if the opportunity to fuck with her presented itself, I wouldn’t take it. I probably would. But I’m not planning or waiting for that day. If it comes along that’s when I’ll make my move. I’m sneaky.
I also try not to manipulate people or make them feel bad or make them do what I want them to. But the temptation is great. I mean . . . if you can’t see that I’m messing with you, If you can’t see that the socially awkward, socially inept, socially anxious chick is fucking with you, if you are so blind that I see what’s good for you when you can’t, than you deserve to get fucked with. Does that sound conceited? Probably. Whatever.
There’s a reason why I say it’s a good thing I have social anxiety disorder. If I didn’t, I’d be blurting shit every which way, probably stacking up enemies, and metaphorically pushing people off bridges. I care about people, I really do, and I’m very in tune with myself, with others, with our surroundings, with the universe, but if you piss me off it’s all over; no more feeling, no more anxiety, no more second guessing my words. And you better not catch me in a week where I haven’t gotten very much sleep for the previous five days (A.k.a THIS WEEK) because I’ll lay you flat on the concrete without hesitation. My anger is very freeing.
Sometimes I do feel like I’m better than everyone else. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t. One of my issues with authority, and one of the reasons why I’d still have problems working even without this fucking social anxiety bullshit, is that they’re all idiots. They are! Not one of the seven managers at my last job had a lick of sense in their thick heads. I want my M.D because 1) adolescents deserve better care than a pill-pusher (Everyone does) and 2) because I can’t handle people telling me what to do. I don’t mind it when I’m learning, but once I’ve learned it back the fuck off. I don’t want you over my shoulder, I don’t want you re-telling me things or insinuating I’m stupid and most importantly I don’t want you acting like you have the right to assert your power over me because you have a different title on your name tag. We can take this shit outside, if it’s a problem.
I can’t be an elf. I just can’t. I have to be Santa Claus. Once I nip this social anxiety in the bud, it’s on. Move bitch, get out the way! For real, if you’re standing in my way, I’m going to smack you to the side.
I have a feeling a lot of this is my mindstate talking more than me. No sleep = aggressive, narcissistic, confrontational, and little patience for stupidity.
My eyes might hurt like a bitch but I feel pretty good about myself at this moment. I’d rather be willing to punch someone in the teeth than curled up on my floor ready to blow my head off. Not that I have a gun. I don’t. Guns creep me out. I’d like to go to a shooting range one day though, that’d be fucking awesome!
I also want to invent a dashboard camera for your car that records your speed limit in the tape so that when you get pulled over for being black or brown–oops, I mean speeding–you can prove that you weren’t speeding. If we have google cars driving people around, than what’s so weird about a camera that catches cops being liars? I really want to get a dashboard camera and rear camera for my car. I’m sick of cops fucking with me.
I don’t even know how I got on that topic.
I haven’t eaten yet today: it’s 5pm. Shit, I think I forgot. My stomach isn’t happy. I’m going to go shove something in my face hole.