Today, was a bad day. It started out shit, and just rolled down hill. The two days before had pretty much been shit to, and today was just icing on the goddamn cake. There's a lot of shit to cover if I were to cover the lead up to today, just suffice to say, it was shit. I woke up this morning, all fucked up and racked in pain. So, after fumbling around for a few brief minutes, I ate a little breakfast, just so I had something to put a couple of hydrocodones on top of, and went back to bed. I haven't been taking the pain pills recreationally like I once did, and I try not to take them now unless I really need them. Anyway, when I got to work, I was still pissed off. Pissed off at various family members for various things, mostly how almost everyone seems to be too busy with their own lives to spend much time with my 84 year old, Alzheimer’s riddled grandmother. Pissed at myself because I don't think I spend enough time with her. Pissed off because a friend sent me an email, letting me know he might have a line on some security work overseas, had I finally gotten my fat ass back in shape yet? Pissed off because I wasn't yet in shape, because I'd been too busy being a sad sack drunk the past few years to get my mind right and do what needed done. Pissed off because I'd spent money I'd had allotted for other things toward investing in a new laptop, and downloading the old hard drive onto it. Pissed because I'm even further behind in finishing the next book with this bullshit. Pissed because, I'm off my schedule, and I'm not working out as often as I need to. 2-3 times a week is not nearly enough, to push me further down my path. Pissed because I realize I'm gonna have to get a new gym, and I'm going to have to fight with Bally's about ending my membership. Because Bally's sucks. Mainly, I'm just pissed. And being in more pain than usual, I'm really fucking pissed. So, I'm at work. And I'm sitting in one of the chairs along the wall for customers to sit. It's fucking empty, there's maybe two customers,and they're both on lanes. My boss, the big boss, the manager, is eating fried chicken from a Church's box, and trying to tempt me. He's cool, funny, joking about it, and I laugh as best I can and turn him down. And, as I said before, I'm already pissed off. And I'm trying to do the math in my head, if I were to live on nothing but low-carb protein shakes and tuna, and did PT twice a day, how fast could I drop some serious fucking weight and get back in some semblance of fighting shape? I'm thinking about that security job overseas, that my friend told me about. Also, while I'm thinking this, I'm judging the best shape I was ever in, my mean level of fitness, and how much progress I've made thus far, and wondering how far I can get by the time I can get a passport. I'm pissed, also, because I doubt, even if I were to pull off this megalithic hat-trick, that I'd still be a big ol no go, because I'll still have a fucked up back. Now, if I moved a couple hundred pounds off my fat ass, would my back be as fucked up as it is now? Obviously not. But, enough to once again be employed as a warrior? And if so, would I be able to go anyway, as I still have duties here? To my grandmother, most of all. The thing is, no matter how often I remind myself that my warrior days are behind me, that I have to learn to like being a writer and work a day gun monkey, my only real motivation to better myself, is the thought that one day, I might fight again. The thing is, for guys like me, guys that took the warrior-poet bullshit to heart, it's a helluva thing to not be a warrior. For those of us whose heart beat, is only that of war drums, the call to arms, to protect the weak, and smite the evil, it never fades. To have to live with that, the violence inherent to our being, knowing that there are battles to be fought and evil to be vanquished, and that we can no longer be a part of them, and not by choice, well, it's a helluva goddamn thing. Until we've had our fill of it, and leave the field of our own accord, there is only one Zen for us. So, anyway. I'm sitting there, and I'm thinking about all this shit, and I'm pissed off about everything, because I figure God just hates me and I'm fucked. Proper fucked. And the whole while everyone is cracking the usual jokes. Then, my boss asks what my problem is, and I tell him, and that no, I don't want any fried chicken, because a friend told me about a security job he knew about, and had an 'in', with, and I obviously couldn't go, because I was still a fat piece of shit, and his fried chicken, though delicious and tempting, wasn't going to help me one goddamn bit. And that, was when this guy, this one guy, who I already, shall we say, don't love, started yapping his fucking gums. I wrote about this dude in my last blog. He's the guy who'd nearly rolled his eyes when mentioning my book, and I felt the old me reach up from the depths, wanting to snap his bitch neck. This guy, he's not really a bad guy. He's just a condescending asshole.I actually kind of like him, when he's not being a prick and talking down to people. And nothing he said was really that bad, it's just that he's the kind of guy, he can say something someone else just said, that was ok when they said it, and when he says it there's a meanness to it. Part of that, I'm sure, is my own projection. I'm human, and frail. However, I'm also a real emphatic motherfucker, intuitive, if you will. I'm real goddamn sensitive to tonal shifts and body language. You know those really smart motherfuckers, that talk down and belittle everyone they meet, yet, somehow, always manage to avoid being in a real fight? Those are the worst kind of bullies. I ever told you how much I hate bullies? Anyway, he yaps his gums a bit, and I try to ignore him. And then he pauses, and looks at me a bit, taking stock, and then I say something. I say something I shouldn't say. Something I regret the moment it comes out of my mouth. Something I've never said to someone who wasn't a friend. I relate a story from my time at war. I didn't kill a lot of people, I only fired my weapon a handful of times. But, let's say I probably have a decent average. And one time, well, one time is something that I'll hear about from my friends until I die. Circumstances are what they are. Anyway, saying what I said, I crossed a line, if only to myself. I became that guy. Some guy, other than who I want to be. I just wanted him to shut his bitch mouth, and wipe the condescending smirk from his face. But I opened my fat fucking mouth, and shared something that didn't need to be shared. Truth be told, saying something at all was pretty light, compared to everything else that ran through my mind. I hate me some fucking bullies.
Friday, June 15, 2012
From the old blog, How I Let A Douchebag at Work Turn Me Into That Guy I Hate
The Following is about a year old, from my old blog.