(What I am about to say makes me laugh. You’d have to read any prior blog of mine involving sex to understand.)
I think I might need angry sex. It’s hard to explain why. I’ve never had angry sex and I am not particularly fond of sex in general, at least not on most days. And I don’t have a person that I am angry at in order to have angry sex with. Unless you count the uneducated mook at the assistance office--besides he’s probably old and fat and pretty gross anyways. I really want to go all snicker’s commerical on him and not just yell at him and call him an uneducated mook.
But I am pretty angry. I keep thinking that I’ll get over it. That I’ll get passed being so tired and grumpy all of the time. But the rage just rages on. It’s always in the pit of my stomach, gurgling and churning and making trouble for my digestive tract and my nerves.
The uneducated mook is standing in between me and a needed MRI (to find out what exactly is wrong with me). I’m asking for a denial letter from the assistance office, it’s not like I’m asking this guy to pay for it out of his own pocket. And I say uneducated since I am pretty sure I have a higher education level than he does and it makes me feel better about him treating me like dirt. It’s about all I have.
I’d also like to scream at the Ford Dealership in Erie for not having fixed the thing wrong with my car even though I’ve had it to them twice already (and at the idiot mechanic that talks down to me). Is it in the mechanic’s manual to treat women like crap?
And the only way I can get through all of the road construction is by cranking up my radio--lately, it’s mostly AC/DC and Kei$ha. I realized that every road I have to travel along has at least one section down to one lane. I try to tell myself that it’s good for them to have work and good for our economy and the road. For some reason, I like my music loud, and I like to drive fast. It has something to do with heading west and maybe, just maybe getting somewhere. Sometimes I don’t get anywhere at all, but all the same, I’m getting there in a hurry.
But it always makes me think of that scene in Ann Petry’s The Street where the characters are flying down the road in their car, passing the people that think themselves better than the protagonist. I guess that’s what I’d like to do. Fly as fast as I can. Every time some idiot tells me how they can’t or won’t do exactly what is in their job description to do, all I want to do is drive. When my car does it’s little thing, I just want to drive. When my kids start arguing, drive. When my mother acts all crazy, drive. When I feel overwhelmed by being a full time student and working two part time jobs, drive. When I’m sick and can’t figure out what’s wrong because a bunch of mooks refuse to acknowledge our country’s need for universal health coverage, drive.
I don’t know how else to get rid of this overwhelming anger. Just drive, it’s all I can do. Except maybe that angry sex, but I don’t see any prospects for that.