Tread on Trina: Blinding Rage Revisited

Apparently, I've got, tatooed on my forehead, the words "Treat Trina Like Shit."
It's lovely.
Everyone come look at it.
Take heed, too, and do as it commands.
Don't know what it is about me that insists that I be tread upon.
Don't know what I project that causes people to do as such.
Well, fuck everybody.
Really.
That means you.
Yes, you.
And you, too.

Blinding Rage.

Okay, I've kept it in as long as I can: It's time for a rant.

Yesterday (and increasingly lately), I was subject to several bouts of uncontrollable rage. I get this way sometimes. Generally, these types of outbreaks manifest themselves in a series of odd dreams in which my rage is directed at someone close to me: my mother, my best friend, my dad. Not people I'm even mad at in life, most times, I just have the random dreams. And normally, I have three or four dreams, and the whole mess unconsciously passes.

However, lately, I'm having blinding rage at work, consciously and in waking hours, no less. The whole world, it seems, is fucking around - laying guilt trips, suppressive stress, and general anxiety through passive aggressive sublimation.

That's one thing, and certainly nothing new. But when people call and tell me that I'm doing things wrong, scheduling pages incorrectly, questioning MY fucking GRAMMAR, I draw the line.

Yesterday, a woman wanted to place an ad. She'd written "Will sit with the elderly, M-F, blah, blah, blah..." So, under the employment section of my schedule, I created a page that said, "Seeking a position sitting with the elderly. Blah." (Blah not included, of course.) This is all grammatically correct, yes? Does that ad indicate that she WANTS a job perched next to old people? I certainly thought so.

Moving on. She calls me next day. Says, ""Oh, I've got tons a calls, but ever-buddy thinks I NEED someone to sit with me. Someone called and said you got it written wrong on there. You must have it wrong."

"Ma'am," I say, forcing calm I do not feel. "It says, 'Seeking a position sitting with the elderly."

"Yeah," she says. "Well that means I need someone the sit with me. I don't. I'm LOOKING for a job."

Is that what it means? I was under the impression that 'seeking a position' meant 'looking for a job.' Perhaps I'm wrong. I think, maybe, I'm on some crazy pills - insane antibiotics, deranged diet pellets, something! It wasn't just that she was mistaken, it was that alllll these other people were under the same falacious misconception. Who's wording is wrong? Mine or the rest of humanity's?

So I changed her ad. It now reads: "I will sit with the elderly." Coarsely primitive, I think. I try to keep up a neat channel - keep grammar, spelling, the general aesthetic pleasing and above standard. But now I've got this big, sore thumb sticking out there, screaming, "Look at this prehistoric phrasing!"

This episode by itself just really pissed me off. But several other occurences in conjunction- each to lengthy and mostly pointless for me to explain in my special verbose way - have generated blinding rage. By the end of most days recently, I generally just say, "Fuck you all, I'm going home." Well, in so many words.

(Tangentially, I've only every said "Fuck you" twice in my life. Both times to my dad, strangely enough.)

Anyway. I realize that I'm SO dramatic about EVERYTHING. I hate that. It's exhausting. I think what made me angriest of all WAS the fact that these trivial things inspired such unaccounted for anger. Eff.

Well, that's all I've got energy to rant about for now.

Peace out, Homeskillets.