Life Is My Pet Peeve

Have you ever realized that you were *different*, on such a random day, in such a random way, that you couldn’t believe you didn’t see it before? I have read hundreds, no, thousands, of books. Most of them involve some sort of romance. I’ve always read, “I wanted to know [this or that]” or “I want to know everything” about their special someone. I ask, almost every person I encounter, what he or she talks about with their significant other. I just can’t imagine talking to a man about that many things. The most anxiety-provoking thing in the beginning of the situation between The Narcoleptic and I was when he wanted to play Truth or Truth. Truth or Truth? What the fuck? I thought of approximately 3 questions and I’m almost positive I used his questions for me, in the inverse for him.  So, I read these books and listen to people around me, wanting to get to the crumbs of another human. I am not a sociopath and I am not a complete narcissist (not as far as I know), but I hon...

This is basically just a more specific iteration of others wanting every FUCKING bit of your soul. The little crumbs at the bottom of the toaster and the microscopic ones that fell on the floor. One day, I was going to the local chicken joint. I had just called in the order so I stopped by the grocery store next door before I went to pick up my hot-and-ready chicken meal. In The Meantime called me and I foolishly answered.  By that time, I was leaving the grocer's mart and was planning to wait in the car for my food to finally be ready. The local chicken joint takes 30 minutes, at least, for every order. So, I'm sitting in the car, scrambling for things to talk about with someone I don't care about. While doing so I decided I would snack from the bag of potato chips I had just purchased. He asked what I was eating so I told him. Finally, I've exhausted my 30 minutes and go to pick up my food. I told him to hold on, but he could hear background noise and whatnot....

I feel things very deeply. I’m a sensitive soul in some ways, but hard as concrete in others. The problem with my sensitivity is that my brain can’t seem to distinguish the different levels of pain I should feel, based on any given circumstance.  I was so haunted, years ago, by a murder that happened in Texas that it plagued my thoughts and dreams for MONTHS. Which murder, you wonder? It’s Texas so it could’ve been any number of them. The one I’m referring to, though, is when some racist, murderers drug a Black man from the back of their pickup truck. Why are pickup trucks the preferred method of transportation for racists? I guess the better to conveniently transport the many Black people they plan to kill, my dear. Anyway, they drug this poor man on the back of the truck until his fucking limbs came off. How horrifying is that? Because you know shock doesn’t hit as soon as you skin your knee. It probably doesn’t even hit when the bone is showing through after a ...