No, this is not PTSD. Not a cry for help. I'm just rummaging through some venting tidbits that need to work themselves out of my head. Read again: VENTING. Not encouraging any already crazy fuckers with no coping skills and no social skills to cross the line into bodily harm of others.
I figured that since I shouldn't name my blog something like "Shit That Makes Me Want to Shoot People...," then I ought to at least make it the title of my first post. "Today's Truth" just felt too vanilla.
I'm thinking about things that bother the shit out of me. Liars. Slow Internet connections. Generation X-ers who think it's cute, clever, or enlightened to text full conversations like teenagers. Grow your grown ass up. Rude, disrespectful people. People who don't know the difference between self-esteem and self-entitlement. Get a clue. The world doesn't owe you shit. People who keep me waiting, especially when I'm spending my money. Websites that play music. I hate looking all over the damn page just to find the pause or stop button. Uggh. Unprofessional. Amateurish. Annoying as fuck.
I hate overused word pairs, especially trials and tribulations. Suddenly, everybody's Job or Jesus Christ. Can someone please write about your freakin' hardships without acting like you just carried a cross to Cavalry?
Did a mysterious storm swoop down and destroy all of your property and kill all of your kids? Do you have sores covering every inch of your body? I didn't think so.
But even if you could cite personal hardships of biblical proportions, it is overdone. Over. Done. So are tragedy and triumph. Body and soul. Vitamins and minerals. Umm...sick and tired.
I'm sane, but not normal. I'm kind, but impatient. I'm sure that I'm too considerate of others who don't give a shit about me. I hate telling people no, but I will. When I do, I have guilt issues that depress me for hours, sometimes days. I really wish people wouldn't cross boundaries, physical, emotional, professional boundaries. I work too hard.
I've loved the wrong people too much for my own good. Been made a fool for a few good times. I have great scars and grotesque open wounds, only visible when I put them on the screen. I've too many missing pieces, but otherwise, I'm perfect.
*Sigh* Of course, I don't really want to shoot anybody in the head. That feeling has managed to go away since returning home from Afghanistan. But I sure would like to pistol whip the fuck out of a few folks. That feeling manages to linger on (and on) a bit longer.
Yeah, yeah. My unwillingness to forgive is dragging me to hell. Got it. It doesn't change today's truth. Maybe tomorrow's truth will be different. Hmmh.