that I hate. this. fucking. day.
It's never been a favorite of mine, and this one in particular has been embarrassingly awful. Why is it these shitty fake holidays get to me so much? Maybe it's just my subconsciously resisting being told what to feel.
If I'm supposed to be feeling romantic, I swear lifelong hatred for the city of Anaheim and get drunk.
If I'm supposed to feel Irish I go to the Mexican joint.
If I'm supposed to be feeling silly, I actively want to smash both of my office computers, Southern California Edison, the guys that brought me Knocked Up, the internet, Kimmy Gibbler, several restricted blackout dates, the Indian Ocean, Sir Bernard Fitzalan-Howard the 16th Duke of Norfolk, Christopher McDonald for some reason, and a Time Warner Cable office.
oh, and my phone. Oh, how I want to smash my phone right now. I sort of already did.
Arbor Day is coming up* and there's lively odds that I will burn down a rainforest and on Flag Day.... oh, Flag Day. Those veterans will never speak to me again.
*Not the one that California made up for itself. Don't start me up on that right now.
Springsteen once sang that sometimes he just wants to explode, to take a knife and cut the pain from his heart. Sometimes I just want to go to Lowe's, get my keys sharpened, and jam them into the side of my neck. Everything's relative I guess.
Hope yours is better than mine.