I should write a book. I could have written several by this point of my life. Instead I have my journals, my friends, and my husband. Well what would you write about? I've been asked. My life, I reply. I have never read anything that comes remotely close to what I have experienced--the seriousness, the pettiness, the craziness, the shit in between. I'd air out the dirty laundry. Just throw the shit out there, call out all the shittiness and the shitty people I've dealt with. But then I realized that would take up more volumes than Encyclopedia Britannica. If any of you fucks remember what the fuck those are.
In short, I pretty much dislike people. Not just the fucktards. They REALLY piss me off. People in general drive me fucking crazy. I do not have a filter when it comes to this. I am overcome with temporary Tourette Syndrome and I have been known to shout obscenities at random people. If you don't know me, you'd think I was out on a day pass. For those closest to me, they laugh and egg it on because I am balls to the wall brutal and say what most people don't have the cohones to say. I don't look at it as being mean. I look at it as being the harsh voice of truth. Let's face it: if someone wasn't brutally honest with the douchenozzles I meet on a regular basis then they would not have a chance of recovery and attempting to turn into somewhat normally functioning beings. That doesn't mean I still wouldn't bitch at them. It would just be on a less bitchy scale.
Everyone drives me nuts. I drive MYSELF nuts. Apparently the Celexa isn't doing it's job. My doctor says I'm a misanthrope. Those close to me say I'm just being me. I say I'm beyond fucked and no amount of medicine will ever come close to curbing my outbursts.
I have to stay bottled up all day due to the fact that I am a professional, with a professional license, working in a professional setting. The only thing that keeps me going in a professional mode is good coffee and cigarette breaks, or as we in the healthcare field refer to them, breathing treatments. By the end of the day, my inner beast is growling to get out. The only outlet I have is the car ride home, blaring Slipknot, Devildriver, Lamb of God, or Disturbed. If I get started on the thundercunts and cock biscuits I have to deal with at work, it becomes an hour long rant about the ineffectiveness of the human brain, and just tell me, how is it that I may possibly be the smartest most logical person on the face of this planet?
IDK. I really don't. It's a messed up theory, but I really do believe that it is true at times. I can't believe the amount of assblows that leave the house on a daily basis that can actually function in a normal capacity and have fluid though processes. You'd never know they were like if you saw them drive. Really? You're in a 60mph zone and you are choosing to go 50mph? During morning rush hour? What kind of vagina juice face are you? You are hindering my progress in life. You are a fuck. Plain and simple.
Oh, and let me just state that people without a sense of urgency or purpose are wastes of space. I would rather stuff M80s up my ass and stand over a flaming hibachi than deal with most fucks of life.
Mother fucking fucks. All of them. Cocksucks.