I don’t like blogging upset, I really don’t. I think that blogging upset is like drinking upset. Just don’t do it. No one likes to hang out with someone who is drinking because they are sad; they will probably try to make out with you or cry about how their curtains just don’t match their living room set, or (if you’re lucky) they might just try to pick a fight with you.
But I’m upset. I’m pissed. I’m sad. I’m angry. All I want to do is post about how angry I am and pretent that hundreds of people will read this then send me lattes and kittens and Hot Cheetos Fries and pay off my tuition and tell me I’m beautiful.
I want to punch things I don’t usually punch. Babies, coffee mugs, my own foot – all are punching bags to me right now.
I want to take a lot of naps. I want to move a zillion miles away. I want to spend a lot of money that I don’t have on a lot of lattes that I don’t need. It’s THAT kind of anger.
Do you know how important it is to make another person feel good? Just to smile to them, or wave hello, or compliment their shoes? Little things like that make people feel so warm and rosey and gooey and smiley inside. I love complimenting peoples’ shoes. Initiating others’ internal goo is the best. Now take the opposite of that, and cut and paste it into my life.
People who I care about so much are treating me like poopie. I don’t want poopie insides, I want “gee your shoes look nice” insides. Those I need to depend on are turning out undependable right now. Is undependable a word? It is now.
Go compliment a stranger to make up for my shitty day. It will make me feel better.
Loud angry noises.