FUCK!!! Fucketty, fuck, fuck, fuck!!!
I’ve got some pent up belligerence boiling I think. Because every time I try to retreat to the peace of my own inner thoughts, all I’m finding is me screaming FUCK at the top of my lungs. Ever since the silent retreat, I’ve been doing everything I can to be a picture of peace, joy, patience and awareness. And for the most part I’ve been successful. I can catch myself when I’m manufacturing drama. I can catch myself when I’m getting entrenched in fear. I can catch myself when I’m projecting or hiding behind some silly mind story or feeding an unhealthy coping mechanism. I’ve been doing pretty damn well actually.
But today? Today I woke up crabby, belligerent and not wanting to do much of anything. I want to smoke and cuss, eat junk food and drink cocktails, ignore my children and my responsibilities. I want to tell the Buddha and Joseph Goldstein to take a big ol’ hike on the highway to go fuck yourself. I want to get in my car, drive away and not look back. I want to dye my hair purple and hot pink even though I might get an interview any day. I want to write awful emails to all of the places that I’ve applied to for a job that I am more than qualified for and point out how much my resume fucking rocks and they must be absolute idiots for missing that fact. I want to encase myself in a Plexiglas box so that my children CANNOT be in constant contact with me. I want to tell my husband to get off his fucking high horse and try walking a mile in my shoes for a couple of days. I want to strangle the office manager at The Girl’s preschool for the complete lack of accounting competence. I want to throw my scale out the window and embrace a feminist fuck it attitude when it comes to what I look like. I want to beat the shit out of the creator of Dora.
And I want to do it all while gorging on barbeque potato chips thank you very much.
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