Listen: Shut The Fuck Up!

"I really hate it when..."

How many times have you said that recently? "I really hate it when... " I've been noticing that it's a thought-pattern that increases with stress. I really hate it when I get that stressed that I start sentences with those five words. I really hate it when I start to feel that it really isn't worth bothering to be positive, and I really hate it when people listen to me loudly, vigorously hating things - anyone would think I was an aggressive, neurotic, abusive, resentful person all the time, instead of just on the odd occasion when it really is necessary.

It's not just me, it's other people. I really hate it when I think I know what people are thinking and it isn't very nice stuff about me. I hate it even more when I am proved right, but know that they are still very, very wrong. Because, I'm a nice person! A really nice person! I'm the kind of person anyone would want to hang out with, generous, kind, affable, witty, inclusive... the long list of attributes precious beads on a string I hang around my neck like a noose of social kindness.

I really, really hate it when people can't see past their own aggressive, neurotic, abusive, resentful traits and look bang smack at mine. I want to say to them: Listen: Shut the fuck up with your accusations that you haven't made but I know that you are thinking! Shut THE FUCK UP with your snide insinuations of superiority! Sometimes I walk away from these situations. Other times I sigh, and reply condescendingly, but even then the amount that escapes is miniscule, tiny. I really hate it when that happens.

I really hate it when I hear myself being nice, warm, and smooth to some eager capitalist, when what I'm really thinking is, what a wanker. I bet they pick their nose, I bet they cheat their expenses. I bet they cheat on their partner and lie to their friends and think that's big. I bet they masturbate and then (like 25% of the population) don't wash their hands and then they fucking shake mine and smile a big, cheesy smile. And I'm supposed to smile back at them and their teeth, and not think of the microscopic traces of their genital DNA which now attach to my palms. I really hate that I'm supposed not to shudder when I think of this. I really hate suppressing a shudder when a shudder will at least rescue me from the urge to vomit my breakfast all over their suit.

But most of all, I really hate it when all I can think about is my own petty responses when there are so many more serious things to think about like the end of life as we know it.