“I don’t know what’s in there, but it’s weird and pissed off, whatever it is.” *

Today I have to go to the supermarket, clean my bike, watch a damned movie from NetFlix that has sat on the cocktail table in the living room for three weeks ( Brassed Off ), watch one of the two movies I’ve recorded (Super Size Me? Or Run Silent, Run Deep?) and update this blog .

Married To The Sea
marriedtothesea.com

I’ve realized something important over these last three weeks: When more or less fully in charge of the household while also working (okay, a little less than) full time at the dust factory, I can’t finish any-goddamn-thing to save my life. I begin to tend to one task, get derailed, leave that to do something else, and remember an hour later that I’d yet to finish the first thing. Or worse, have to be reminded. This. Drives. Me. Mad. I like to think of myself as efficient and thorough but you wouldn’t know it, judging from my feeble struggles this month. I must admit to being somewhat stressed due to recent events, and I’m not used to it. Add to this the fact that I haven’t been exercising as I should (as I promised myself I would, as I announced via this very blog that I would, so here we do witness that I, indeed, almost literally suck out loud), and it’s no wonder that my back, neck, and head are like unto a giant fist. It also explains why my response lately to news of nearly anything going even a tiny bit unexpectedly is “Oh? And why, pray tell, the fuck is that?”. How so very pleasant for friends and family alike.

This is a rant post, yes indeed it is. I’m not so much reflecting, ruminating, head-in-hand pondering over my selection of words here as I am stretching my figurative jaws to vomit a little bile onto the figurative page. I’m annoyed, unsettled, knotted and crease’d of brow. I suspect playing a borrowed copy of Halo hasn’t helped, but then again perhaps it’s saved me the need to construct my very own plazma rifle with which to erase various pestering folk (This is a joke. Please do not close schools and do not report me to the authorities). My toxic mood this day is quite equal-opportunity, but there are a few nodes of particular annoyance that I feel compelled to target:

Hospital Parking Garages — These structures really should be larger than the hospitals themselves. Come on, automobiles take up more space than people, correct? Having visitors maneuvering in tiny circles while dodging each other is stressful enough, but when half of the parking structure is undergoing reconstruction (St. Vincent’s!) the process achieves Theme Park From Hell magnitude. You’d think hospital administrators would want patients and visitors to enter their facilities in a relaxed state; I suspect that prescriptions for high blood pressure aren’t so much indicative of lifestyle choices and genes as they are indicative of how much stress the patients have undergone just from getting through the goddamned front door.

Stealth Motorists — It’s dawn (or dusk), the world is gray, you’re driving without headlights. Bitch, please. When I am mouthing things at you and pointing at the front of your vehicle as you pass me, it’s not words of admiration or a request to ride on the hood. I would ask that you be just a tad more involved in the world at large, you thicky twits.

My Fellow Cyclists — Most of you make my teeth ache. Never have I seen a more thoughtless, arrogant bunch of blithely negligent nimrods. This view of you has been reinforced recently by the actions of cyclists passing through the construction zone near my place of work. Blowing stop signs, arguing with street workers, endangering yourselves and others trying to avoid you as you careen through, and you feel picked-upon? Since, as a minority, we cyclists are judged by our worst behaviors rather than our best, you’re doing a bang-up job of bike-y PR out there. Thanks ever so very fucking much.

Customers — Wait for it…

Wait…

Any second now…

Come on…

Damn. I guess the customer service bell actually doesn’t
detect your presence and ring itself. We’ll get right to work
on that for ya.

I gotta get moving. Sayonara.

* Clark (Richard Mazur) in John Carpenter’s The Thing

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