11:46 AM: I lost my shit last night over a can opener.
After sitting down grind out paperwork for five hours or better, I felt as if I was letting life face fuck me instead of face fucking life. I decided I’d feel better after eating; however, in the process of preparing food, I was assaulted by multiple small annoyances. Each one, insignificant on its own, but each one escalating my volatility in small increments toward the temper tantrum threshold.
I was holding my shit together. Then, I discovered the can opener was nowhere to be found. Apparently, Adora and Kristen have been feeding cans of tuna to stray cats and the can opener was in Adora’s car. That was it. The can opener breached the threshold.
I immediately stormed outside, slamming the front door behind me, to drive down to Gumby’s and pick up a pack of smokes. Fuck. Keys are inside. I had to walk around the house to the back door (I’m not sure what I’d have done if the back door was locked, but I’m glad that it was not), went back inside, slamming the back door behind me, up to my room, grabbed my keys, slamming my bedroom door behind me, and then left the house once again, slamming the front door behind me.
I was driving in the state of mind where it crosses your mind to drive full speed into a wall.
For whatever reason, at the red light before Gumby’s, it occurred to me that this was my chance to gouge a neural grove that may make a difference in life. The thoughts were more visceral than verbal, but the implication was clear. If I could ride out this wave of childish rage, I would strengthen my ability to cope with all mental monstrosities in all situations.
I drove past Gumby’s. I rode around for a while, not quite certain what turn I would make until I made it. I eventually found myself in my drive way, where I sat for some time. Hesitant to move, lest the anger return. I found myself in the kitchen, sitting, with my head down, in the same emotional void, afraid to as much as look up, for fear of what would fill the void.
Eventually, Suzi found me as such, and offered to help. She got the can opener out of Adora’s car, completely unaware of the phenomenological maelstrom I’d just created and whithstood, only confused as to why I had slammed a door a total of four times.
I opened my can of beans and ate them from the can, sitting on the dog food receptacle, like a placated child who’d tuckered himself out.
