Today was one of those days where I wanted to throw gasoline onto a burning house. Completely irrational I know, but I want to see something get enveloped by a spectacular fury. I wish I could say I’m a zen person, but I’m not. I hold grudges from over a decade ago, and nine times out of ten things fester until I explode. So without lashing out at anyone, or exposing anyone, or upsetting anyone – I’m going to try and vent strategically and anonymously.
Things I’m still mad AF about.
To the one who thought they could tell me what to do. The way I arranged the displays looked a thousand times better than your high waisted trousers.
To the one who called me fat seven years ago, I remember that day vividly. The clothes you wore and the tone of your voice. You might be a nice person now, but I’ll never forgive you.
To the one in a hurry to grow up. In your race against the clock you left behind your friends and your moral compass. Your appearances became as patchy as your beard.
To the all-talkers. You live a lovely life of hypotheticals and near misses. I don’t exist to stand in the background of your picture perfect life. Stick to plans or bugger off.
To the malcontent. Each encounter felt like a blood test, I was left pale and drained. You happily destroy things if they’re within your best interests, and to this day you are the most selfish person I’ve ever known.
To the ones who took me for a stroll up the garden path. You promised me hope and fed me sand. But at least I know what’s for me now.
I guess the moral of this story is, don’t fuck with a writer because well… we’ll write about it.