A Little More Than A Bad Day…

Last night was a strong competitor for the worst night of my life. I had a complete nervous breakdown, screaming at the top of my lungs, drunk, saying the most horrible things to someone I love very much. It culminated with me putting my foot through a wall and bashing my head as hard as I could into the bathroom window. I was nearly hospitalized.

Waking up this morning with a huge knot in my head and incredible fear and remorse, I decided I needed to go out to get some cigarettes. I had a couple emergency psych appointments coming up in the afternoon, and needed to get my nicotine on. On my way to the deli, some asswipe leans out of his construction van, which is parked and running, and says, “Hey Gorgeous.” Usually, I file this kind of harrasment into the least harmful category. It’s certainly better than threats, or kissing noises, or getting jacked off in your face on the subway. However, this morning, it struck me how rude, how vile, how asssumptive, how invasive it really is. I stopped in my tracks, turned right to him and said in my best Linklater voice, “FUCK OFF.” I turned around and began walking again when he said menacingly, “What did you just say?” I turned around again and said, “I SAID FUCK OFF.”

Walking to the deli I saw cars speeding to my right. I was certain he was going to pull up and shoot me. I was terrified, but the cigarettes sang a siren song. When I came out, he was still parked like before. I decided not to walk 4 blocks out of my way to avoid him, but to walk right past. Why should I have to be fucking terrified? Why? He never did shoot me, so I guess I can give him that much.

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