Maybe I have lived here for too long.
Yesterday, for four hours I was jumped by a throng of strangers, all so uninterested and needy, or interested yet plainly unaware of what is going on around them.
Vacationers, O I despise you.

You crowd my counter with your elbows and eyeballs, you dance from foot to foot as you impatiently wait for the string of five orders you bark at me, you glare at and judge the people in line with you, you feel entitled to more baristas in the room so that you don't have to live in the same sense of time as the "locals" here do.
You lean in close to my face as if I have any reason to give a good goddamn and say to me, enchanted with the sound of your own voice, make me a cappuccino, a little on the dry side.

The first wound comes when they frown at me and ask where Lenane is. Well, DitchWitch, she went home when my shift started. FOOOCK. Didn't their mothers or the bear whom they were raised by ever tell them how RUDE that is?

Anyway, yesterday I discovered that I genuinely hate people in general.
And sorry, but lofty pregnant bellies, or those mothers with squealers strapped to their bodies, always acting like I should greet the gremlin too, or comment on how cute it is are my absolute least favorite.
Well, no, I do not think it is cute- I think it is a mini you, entitled to all the consumption and pollution the world has to offer. Good for you, you got knocked up. I swear breeding has taken on a feel of fadishness now that we have so many fancy methods of contraception. Like it's some blessing in the eyes of anyone but the overproud mother when another child is pooped out... come on, we can be honest, its 2011.

Creeps.
My paycheck sucks whether I make more coffee or less coffee. You can shove your dirty mean tip money in your rear.
My boss loves them all like they are her children.
She told me how to educate and barrate them as they order, telling them a double americano is too weak for a 16 oz cup. Really yndy? You don't think these helpless morons have ever ordered coffee before? You don't think that they know what they like? Even if they don't know what they are doing, you really think they want to be pushed around like that?
Maybe there is some kind of upper hand to be had, and I have to be pushy, obnoxious and entertaining. Outgoing, I think they call it.
Ah fuck.
I make good espresso.
I am not Steve Martin, or Big Bird- I do not sing and dance, I do not want to know your favorite movie or your child's favorite color.
Just tell me how you like your coffee, if you like it where the sun don't shine, I'd be happy to make that happen for you.

I dreamed that Bones was being chased by a child on a four wheeler, cornered into tight places to be ran over. I tried to keep him inside. Fred doesn't seem to care that these aliens don't understand the concept of a loved, indoor-out door pet cat. They probably stole Tibbs, or ran him over, thinking these streets are paved just for their SUV.
My dogs don't listen to me, so I have to chase them down and drag them back home by their collars, forced to chit chat and fake smile at the part time neighbors. I hate that.
I would rather forage the beach approach for washed up seal ass than share a grocery store with these folk.

So here we are, it's almost six am.
If you know me, you know that the only reason I am ever alive this early lay in some form of emotional tempest. Now I get to spend an extra three hours dreading the noon hour, which will be the first time I have ever dreaded going to my new job. hmmm.

Writing it all down is perhaps therapeutic to me, I am sure it is lame and negative to anyone happening upon it.
But this is not one of the situations when I feel fire is necessary. (Times when I need to write secret or very personal things, I light a big fire and burn the writing, also therapeutic for moi.)
This is one of those times, I hope the wiser ones can look back on their past and laugh a little, and relate.
I also really really really hope that somebody stranger to me reads this and is offended, hurt and compelled by this, as would complete the cycle of feeling and saying and doing mean things. What?

Mean things are part of the balance. Some damn things are mean without ever suppose-to being mean in the first place... if you follow.
Variety is the spice, my loves.
When I am in the proximity and sort of relationship with a person, when I like a person, and they are honestly just good and pissed off- spewing negative vibes and all this- I am interested, I show that I care.
I'm not saying that it is something I can keep up with if someone I care about is always good and angry, but with a good mix of other such emotions, anger can draw from yourself- or the folks around you all sorts of reactions, gestures, an over all expansion of awareness and understanding.
I have to focus on keeping my mean within the bounds of a cycle, and not one of those slinky coil thinga-ma-bobs. A person has to be creative sometimes, in order to keep the variety of things well balanced.

It's kind of a big deal, for a person to hate their job, so I am going to really try to think about just how much energy I can put into it. If I can't do a really good job of hating my job, I have no business hating my job, and shall cease pouring energy down the toilet doing so.  and  I will need to learn how to leave my hating behind me when I come home, which is becoming more difficult to do as I begin to feel like I am growing younger by the years, instead of older.

There is room for all.
If my destiny is to be the uncivilized, socially awkward, baby hating shy ass-hole in the corner, so be it.
I will start my degree to become a teacher just as soon as I get fired.