I like to consider myself even-tempered. Aside from the somewhat-frequent occasional gin&tonic induced moments of bliss and the odd nervous-breakdown, I have the emotional variation of sand. Today, however, my mind is in a freefall toward murderous rage. I’m not quite there yet (as I write this, I’m somewhere at dark cloud hanging over head, but trying to fight it) and I’m really hoping no unfortunate thing or creature will push me over that precipice.
I woke up happy. I even had a rock-out moment to Plain White Tees with my nephew. Breakfast was good; I actually got to chew and swallow it – usually I have to inhale some juice before running out the door with one shoe on.
So whence did this melancholy descend? It was somewhere around the old taxi park. Some time between trying to dodge brainless veering bodabodas and taxis while simultaneously trying not to land on my ass on the putrid, slimy, pothole-filled thing that passes for a road. The place smells like chemicals and chickenfeed, you can’t tell where the garbage stops and the road begins and the textile sellers, fruit vendors, serious people like myself and general loafers are all jostling for the same two inches of “clean” walking space. AARGH!!!
I finally reach my destination, or rather, as far as the taxi will take me, and I have to get a boda to work. Something about the way that blockhead rode made me want to crack open his skull and rip out his brains [I think we’re somewhere close to murderous rage now] – unfortunately, he didn’t have any. His contraption kept stopping until I decided I’d get to my office faster if I crawled, so I got off, may or may not have muttered curses his way and walked.
Even my newly compiled 90s playlist didn’t calm me down. Now I’m at work and I’m going to sit quietly and not tempt Fate until the day ends. At least tomorrow’s a holiday. Sigh.