Schizophrenic Conversations

There are many things that grind me, none particularly more than the other. Likewise there are many people who piss me off, but few have the ability to infuriate me. Then again I suppose I choose to be infuriated.

Why is it people believe they can insult your intelligence at will, as if I am freaking oblivious to the mind games; incapable of reading body language and the obvious ulterior motives behind actions. I may play the part of an idiot on occasion, but an idiot I am not.

At times when my intelligence (albeit average) is insulted, I must work hard (as a prostitute in these tough economic times trying to convince a John to spend more than twenty bucks for a blow job) to hold back my desire to swear like a drunken sailor at the source of my vexation.

Screwing up my face, grinding my teeth and occasionally raising my voice to let out some well punctuated F words is all I can do to temporarily stave off the raving lunatic just beneath the surface. I instinctively want to clench my first and pound it straight into the face of my vexation; I reserve the other thoughts skipping around the cross roads of my sometimes twisted mind.

If the people who think they know me had only an inkling of what goes on in my head daily, they would run for the hills; and unlike that woman that allegedly turned to salt they would never look back.

But I find some amusement in these accidental attempts to vex me; because I am an asshole by nature (but I play the other parts well) so I can always find a way to turn my anger right back from whence it came, times two or three or four (it depends). You really can't fight fire with fire, either one of us will lose or both of us will lose badly.

Lock up your small fluffy animals, I'm in a fowl mood, the full moon is drawing near, there is no telling what mayhem that will be unleashed.