12 Rounds

It’s just one of those days,
when you don't wanna wake up.
Everything is fucked.
Everybody sucks.
You don't really know why,
but you want justify rippin' someone's head off.
No human contact.
And if you interact, your life is on contract.
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker.
It's just one of those days!

"Break Stuff" by Limp Bizkit

I knew it as soon as the alarm went off this morning. A complete 180 degree turn from last Friday morning. Today when the birds began to chirp, my immediate reaction..."shut the fuck up!" I think the anger built in me while I slept. I went to bed angry and woke up angrier. It seems like I’ve been angry a lot lately. Overwhelming stress and constant pressure has been mounting on me for some time now and the sheer weight of carrying it around in silence is really beginning to take its toll. It is showing. I’m snapping and becoming increasingly hostile. If I were 12 again and on a playground, I would be looking for a fight. Push come to shove and I would engage without hesitation. I’m dying for an ass to kick and a neck to break. I want to draw blood and have it drawn from me. To taste the copper metal drip from my lip. Only a boxer would understand how truly beautiful pain can be. Pain is the ultimate release. And if pain is weakness leaving the body, who wouldn’t want to experience that suffering if you knew later it would make you stronger?

Perhaps all this anger is really just weakness in disguise. I’m not sure I could build a strong case to debate that. Actually, there may be some truth there. Psychologists have long claimed that depression is anger turned inward. And sooner or later it will lead to self-hatred. Perhaps that too is true, or perhaps "it’s just one of those days."

It started at work with an insensitive, sexist, raciest redneck old man more than double my age. He’s lazier than a drunken NYC street bum and more worthless than a $2 hooker who doesn’t give head. He’s the ultimate grab bag of shit and if I told you just one tale, you would say that the portrait I just painted of him is rather kind. I won’t explain exactly what he did today, because my blood is already boiling enough. I’ll just say that with a single e-mail, he managed to insult and publicly humiliate nearly every female in the office. And for whatever reason, nearly every one of these women then come crying and complaining to me. Some days I feel like I’m running a preschool rather than a business. I have to listen to the drama all day, comfort the sobbing and assure them I will do all I can to ensure this will never happen again. The thing is, none of these people are even in my jurisdiction, but yet I have to deal with it. Tell me, how am I supposed to fire someone who doesn’t even technically work for me? All I can do is reprimand him, basically slap him on the wrist when really what I want to do is pick him up by the fucking throat and choke the shit out of him until he gags on his dentures and drops to his knees before me. I couldn’t wait to leave work and come home to relax. Finally some peace of mind, right? Wrong!

When I arrived home, I hear this strange noise that sounds sort of like falling rain, but it’s coming from inside the house. It’s more intense than rain though, more like a bathroom shower head. I pause a minute thinking what it could be. I am able to locate the noise. It’s coming from downstairs! I open up my basement door only to have water shoot up at me. The water tank in my basement, finished basement I might add, had burst and is spraying water in every possibly direction within a 20 foot radius. You think a horrent gets mad when it’s wet? You’ve never seen me get completely drenched in my lucky (now unlucky) three-pieace Armani suit as I’m blinded by a stream of water blasting me in the face as I fumble to reach shut off valves. I estimate the total damage to my basement is around $10,000...give or a take a few grand.

At this point, if I had a gun near me, I would have blew my brains out. No such luck, so instead I decided to take some built-up aggression out on my punching bag. Just one punch in and the bag splits right down the center, tearing open. Great. "It’s just one of those days."

So now I move to Plan C - get drunk.

Vodka don’t fail me now.