This is How Road Rage Happens

You are fed up after feeling pushed and punished so much. You are not even blaming anyone else because you feel at a fault, and feel apologetic to everyone in your life, and you are fed up because you cannot apologize any more and started to feel sorry for your helpless self.

 

One day, you sat in the office feeling absolutely paranoia because someone told you a long time ago that you were hated everywhere you went, and it certainly seemed like that way at that precise moment; everyone else was chatting so happily; the quieter you got the happier they chatted, or so it seemed like to your paranoia eyes.

 

You just want to go home, to sleep, rather than sitting one more minute through amongst a person who puts "sh" in every "six" and a person who's dress sense is of Irma La Douce's, tittering together at top of their voice over some TV shows you cannot watch because your Sky is a goner. You overload your work hoping to feel numb and deaf.

 

You are officially overworked, and very, very tired but have to drive to go home.

 

Then you set off to a M road, in unusually congested traffic. Everyone was cutting in front of you without indicating, swaying lanes left to right, and you just are keeping eyes on the road trying not to kill anyone including yourself.

 

Then there goes this lorry. This ONE, BIG, STUPID LORRY WITH A PICTURE OF A NAKED WOMAN IN NOTHING BUT A THONG!!!!!!!!! There was no trick there, it was not a picture that looks like a naked woman but not, but it really was. It was not even a drawn picture to exhibit playfulness of the driver, but it was a photo of advertisement. Photo of a woman from behind WITHOUT her face showing, with a logo of some legit company. Oh, and this lorry was clever enough to be PC with a photo of naked guy in a boxer shorts on the side (in much smaller scale, coincidentally.)

 

You began see your views filled with red, FAST. Your brain was swamped with the darkest fantasies similar to the scenes "DUEL", "Thelma & Louise" and "North by Northwest". Then more scenes from "Matrix Reloaded", "The Island " and "I, Robot". You want to turn into a monster truck and run over the lorry, while untangling the chains to discharge mega giant iron rollers to crush the lorry alongside the gigantic bazooka or that sort blowing the lorry into pieces.

 

Now, this is how it's done. Now, this is how Britons are full of red.

Job Interviews and Dating

I think I am getting really good at job interviews. Of course, had a few interviews which are so disastrous and I rather die than talking about them, but it is my general view to see them as valuable experiences than embarrassing memories. Practice makes it perfect.

 

The more interviews I have, the more I feel the similarities between job interviews and dating scenes. I mean, you attend both in best possible make-up, clothes and smile, hoping to give the best (may not be the real) impressions of yourself. You are never sure if you'd get it before attending either. You always have some expectations for being rejected from both. In such an event, you tell yourself that they are the losers and it's their loss for not wanting you and you are so much better than them.

 

The only difference is that with job interviews I feel there is next one, while with dates I don't. It is not like I go on a date with such a desperations and love to give. In fact I cannot remember one date I went on thinking that I hope I'd get this, while I went on almost all the job interviews thinking I want it.

 

I cannot help but to wonder why dates are harsher rejections than job interviews are to me. I am pretty sure there is another date in every corner ahead of me, though yesterday's interview might have been for the best possible job for me. Why I can get better at job interviews, feeling more and more confident each time, and get totally chickened out with any shadow of date?

 

Another job interview tomorrow.

Getting Lost in Central Park

I went to N.Y. once, years ago. On the first night I had my first (and probably the last) keg party. I shared a room in a hostel with a lesbian couple, and next morning I had a few hours to kill before heading to the Grand Central.

 

I don't remember how I met this guy, it must have been in the hostel over a dry toast and a cup of coffee. Or was it at the path in the park? Did I ask him to show me the rocks? I really can't remember, but I recall that he was taking a walk with me in the Central Park.

 

This guy was a British in America, living a new found life, being really British and making tons of friends, or so he claimed. (I didn't buy this at all, since he was talking to ME.) Within a few minutes I was more or less convinced that this guy was trying to get me to a cult / self discovery seminars, or similar. He was on and on about how he re-discovered himself in US by attending these meetings or lectures. I really, really wanted to leave him but I had no idea how to get out of the park without getting lost, making it on time for my train to Chicago.

 

He was telling me that he knows this lovely spot full of roses, which was near by a gate close to the subway station. I knew he was delusional, since it was in early April and there still was chill in the air. But I had no choice but to follow him. I kept some distance away from the guy and was ready to leg it any second, yet following the guy who was desperately looking for roses.

 

He never found the spot, and he did show me to the station, and nothing bad did happen. I just was left with quite a bad impression regarding Britons who are living in the US. Funnily enough, he was the first and last real British I met in US during my short US life. People's prospects for British things & people were fairly biased and twisted, always dusted in pink powdered sugar. People just loved British anything.

 

Ignorance is bliss, for better or worse. History and common sense are all about what they believe.

Thoughts When Being On the Pole

Nothing excites me.

 

The thought of new things don't tickle my heart.

The thought of new people don't tap my fancy.

The thought of people cheating death don't even shake my nerves.

 

The feelings for you don't excite me any more.

The feelings for you have disappeared.

The feelings for you were never there.

 

All I recall is the anger.

The anger never last into oblivion.

The love remains only in the form of memory.

 

Sweet things used to make me excited.

Wrong doing used to make me aggravated.

Superb thing used to make me inspired.

 

Sarcasm is another thing.

Brain is yet another.

And there was always the one.

 

I like you, yeah, you are nice, yeah, just like every body else.

 

What a waste of life, can't even be average, can't even fantasise.

 

Monday is blue, Sunday is bluer, Friday is blur.

 

The week is starting. This is the beginning of next 5 years. Precarious.