2003-01-25 - 12:46 p.m.

I just blew my top, I mean really blew it, neighbors, time zones, be damned.

(Oh, and I ain�t editing shit, just so you know, so beware below.)

What did I do today? Not much. Like I said earlier today, I just can't do any fucking thing without it being a big massive project. I'm afraid to go to sleep tonight lest I screw that up too. Waiting for a train? I'll probably fucking walk into it as it approaches the station.

On the heels of not being able to purchase a record album frame, I got a clip frame I thought would fit the thoughtful and large Christmas present (a print) from the Roommate.

No dice--I'll have to crop the print myself and see if Pearl Art in Central can make me an appropriate mat.

I wanted to put something up on my wall, so I could feel better--like I accomplished something today, so I headed down to Urbans and got a three-picture frame--one of those push out the glass from the corner dealies. Pretty big.

After spending about an hour thinking about what pictures I wanted up, it finally hit me, and I unwrapped the shrink wrap as the Roommate chirped away about possible plans for grad school. I was all happy for her, and smiling too, but then my jaw frickin' dropped as I received the ultimate insult from the universe.

I'm so fricking angry and worn out from being angry right now and my head hurts and my eye is still twitching and I'm angry about that and I'm so angry about everything.

I opened up the glass photo frame, which was broken.

Which meant I couldn't put it up.

Which meant I had to go all the way back to Harvard just to return it.

Which reminded me of when I spent $30 on that stupid CD cleaner that I bought in Harvard, which totally fucked up a CD, and I had to go all the way back to return the stupid, broken stupid CD cleaner. And then I bought one from Amazon, that was broken when I got it, but they wouldn't let me return it 'cause I unintentionally bought it from a 3rd party, and I spent $40 plus S&H on that, and it bothered me for a month, and I finally just gave up.

And I got pissed 'cause I just said, just a couple of hours ago, how everything is fucked up and how I can't get anything fucking done 'cause of someone else, which really just pisses me off, and that reminded me of how I'm so polite and apologetic whenever I'm the one who got screwed.

Even though I got angry. Really really angry. Angry at so many things, it didn't help anything at all, and in fact just made things worse, and changed nothing, despite the effort I put into really getting angry.

So I held up the broken piece, balled my fists, and left the room.

And screamed words at the very top of my lungs.

I don't know why I bothered to leave the room--what's the point?

I have no idea what I said. No idea. I was frustrated, angry, frustrated, and now embarrassed, and furthermore frustrated at my embarrassment.

I remember looking at the drywall in the hallway �cause it was there, knowing I could smash it if I wanted to, but that it would hurt my hands, oh and then the drywall would be smashed, so I better cool down, but with stars in my eyes, little amoebas, tiny lightning flashes of absorbed anger shooting through my entire body, and the ones that shot through my eye veins I could actually see, which at the very least gave me something to marvel at.

I went back and apologized to the Roommate, who was sitting in my chair.

And then, after leaving again and kicking something I knew wouldn't be destroyed by a sharp kick (it left a scuff mark, which I knew I'd have to clean later, which made me angry), I walked into the living room, dropped, stomach down, onto the floor, and dry-cried, 'cause I knew that I couldn't make matters worse doing that.

The Roommate came in to console me--I told her to go away, and then I felt really bad that I had told her to go away, when she was just trying to be nice, but then I really just wanted her to go away, 'cause I was embarrassed that I was lying on the living room floor, face down, and all over a stupid picture frame, which made me angry, so I told her to go away again.

But then I kinda figured that whatever that was must be done by now, so I got up, and gave her a hug, and then got really angry again. I had to get away from her so I could deal with my emotions privately, and I was deeply ashamed of it too.

And angry.

She stalked me down the hallway, and I walked into her room, screaming at her.

Not I hate you stuff. Not at all. I didn't cross that threshold.

Just I'm so pissed that everything in the universe is working against me right now stuff. You know what I'm talking about.

I just did some cleaning, and I have all the windows open. I just realized that I had been freezing cold for the past fifteen minutes, kinda like when my world�s loudest alarm clock had been ringing for 45 minutes, and me sleeping, breaking down the sound components in my subconscious, incorporating �em, and I ain�t shutting that window �till this entry is done.

So, in the Roommate�s room, I screamed again. I wailed. I bellowed if my life were a job, I�d fucking quit! FUCKING QUIT! I�D WALK RIGHT OUT THE DOOR AND TELL THEM WHY, AND NEVER COME BACK AGAIN!

And I knew what it was, ahead of time. But all of it strangled me, squidlike. I mean, I know what bothers me. But all the things that get me down, like planets, aligned for just one moment.

And I just couldn�t be all Zen about it. I fought as hard as I could, and knowing that it was the most futile of battles, and maybe that was my motivation, but I needed, right then, to send my message of enough! to the universe. Frustration with my job. With the world for never delivering what I expected when I discovered art when I was a kid--that fine feeling ever shrinking--half-life style--with each supposedly waxing year, or as if that higher asshole in charge of my life was trying to sweep up what little feeling of joy and bliss remained into a dustpan, and the feeling, once so totally covering the wood and embalmed in the lungs of the party guests, was now mostly in the trash, and the remnants in the dustpan, and the remnants in the dustpan, and the remnants in the dustpan, and the remnants in the dustpan, and the remnants finally swept under the carpet.

And with a party of my own, tomorrow, and I expect nobody to come, and there�s been so much money spent, and still so much more preparation ahead.

And then the (ex), who I will always love, essentially telling me that I never happened. Confident that no retaliation is possible from a planned-devastated country.

Entering the control room, turning the key, pushing that red button, launching the warhead.

Here I sit, the Roommate gone away, maybe a little afraid of me? I�ve never blown up like that, at least since I was a kid. So unreasonable. So unlike me.

I�m worried about that, but I know I�ll be OK. I�m more worried about the pile of photos on my bed, that I would have taken care of an hour and a half ago, hadn�t this apocalypse happened.

The Roommate gave me a hug when I started to cool down, and I put my head on her shoulder. I said something like I�m so sick of being screwed, or shat on, or something like that, and its true.

It�s so true, and furthermore it�s true. It is. And I learned in frickin� high school that if you�re constantly getting screwed, it�s your fault �cause you let yourself get screwed.

I don�t think that I can put a positive spin on this. At all. This was a negative experience, and completely unnecessary. I�m ashamed, no longer embarrassed, and (thankfully) not really all that angry anymore.

Just sad and helpless, like usual.