Point Me To A Boxing Ring, & Place Your Bets

10 Jun

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I’m pissed.

…Not pissed as in “drunk” (yet)…but pissed as in “holy reign of terror.”

…It is 100% fueled by frustration.  Frustration in a field issue, I only rather recently overcame to begin with.  So this is pissed over an old wound being re-administered for the same reasons, in a different region.

The region is immaterial. 

This is still a compound fracture of nerve-temper being fucked with.

Which isn’t good.

It’s not good in my head.  Not good on a sunny day.  Not good with a week of work still ahead, and shows to open and bills to pay, and all the things that go with being a grown-up.

What I want right now, is a goblet of whiskey, certain pictures tacked on a wall, and some butcher knives for aiming practice. 

…No it’s not.  Why lie?  What I WANT is an explosive confrontation that leaves flames and general carnage in BBQ’d after-wake.

…What I have, instead, is a bottle of wine and plans to watch a super blast-your-fucking-ears-out action movie.

I am hoping the explosions help eradicate the rage.

…And as for the grape in lieu of grain: I learned long ago not to feed the Hulk beast with the hard stuff.  It only makes him Hulkier. 

Technically speaking, the wine isn’t practiced medical procedure either.  In fact, they frown on it.  I know, having been in therapy.  But if I’m not aloud to break things, or yell a lot…(and I refuse to take a Xanax)…then this is my deal breaker, people.

Me: and this bottled vineyard.

Much like morphine, it does absolutely nothing at fixing the actual problem, but does (if given in heavy enough dosage) keep you absolutely from even giving a flying fuck.

…Which, given the time crunch, day of week, and mental obstructions, is about the best I can hope for at the moment.

So: Go Me!

I will drink this fucking fermented grape juice, STUPID, and unnecessarily blast my TV sound system in something supremely obnoxious, and try my damndest to intoxicate the living-a-shit out of my current situation so that at some point tonight, I will be not-pissed-off-enough to actually sleep.

How the hell I deal with it all again tomorrow, is of course, an entirely other deal.

Suggestions are welcome.

…But only if they are artfully retaliatory, deliciously devilish, or painfully pointed in overall plot and procedure.

I have zero patience for reasonable, responsible, resolutions at the moment. 

Thank you.

~D

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2 Responses to “Point Me To A Boxing Ring, & Place Your Bets”

  1. Puff June 10, 2013 at 8:52 pm #

    Hugz Cuz. I know the feeling. This weekend at work i had the shit kicked out of me. My drink is Jameson and Bailey’s on the rocks.

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