Overdosing On Asshole Pills

I wish that I could write poetry. No, that's not it. I wish that I could write beautiful poetry. Of course, Oscar Wilde said that "all bad poetry springs from genuine feeling," and I think he may be right. Sometimes the worst kind of writing is the only reflection of real feelings. The thoughts are removed and you're left with nothing but pure, honest, raw emotion.

I've been extremely overemotional lately, but am starting to slowly move beyond it. I skipped work on Monday and slept all day. I think my growing angst has manifested into a physical condition. I was just so tired. To top it off, I had emailed my boss asking for the day off and got a not so pleasant email in return. I wont go into all the sorted details, but after a few text messages back and forth, I got one from him saying "NO BOOZING TONIGHT." I know he thinks he was being cute and funny, but it made me nothing but infuriated. I've missed six days of work in the past 14 months and that's including yesterday, and he can't even cover me for one day. I was so mad. In return I wrote "I didnt overdose on alcohol, but clearly you overdosed on the asshole pills."

Alright, so not my best comeback, but I was tired and put on the spot. I just wanted him to leave me alone, or at least understand that I wasn't just slacking off for the sake of slacking off. I hate that he assumes every move I make that doesnt involve him is motivated by alcohol. Does he know me at all? Clearly not, as I immediately received a text of "what's wrong?" Quite possibly the worst thing he could have said.

Why does the question "whats wrong? bother me so much? I hate to be THAT girl. The one who wants to scream, "I shouldn't have to tell you whats wrong," but at the same time, I shouldn't. Why don't people get it? Sometimes you just need to be left alone. I never did respond to him.

Then there was today when it was just the two of us in the office, and every part of me wanted to still be angry. He of course was being especially nice, which only made things worse. I hate when people try to pull you out of a bad mood you want to stay in. Sometimes I just want to stay angry. I left wanting to cry and scream. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I was so upset about everything.

I got home and ate and had a nice talk with my dad. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt revived. I sent Ed a text message apologizing and he accepted. Part of me still wanted so desperately to be angry, both with him and with myself for apologizing. I still dont think I was the only one who needed to, but I feel better for having done it. Its amazing how freeing an apology can be.

That's when I realized, it's up to me. My emotions dont control me. I can instantly make myself happy when I want to be happy, but then, why do I love to be sad? And I do. I make myself suffer. Maybe it's that by being able to make myself happy again, my sadness somehow becomes insignificant, as though it wasnt a real emotion. My sadness and pain and angst becomes this fluff, so easily forgotten, so easily overlooked. I dont like to think that my emotions are frivolous. I guess I like to pretend that Im deeper than I actually am, that I'm somehow this social outcast, completely alone and destitute. I guess I like to pretend I'm a brooding artist with many complex layers of emotion. I guess I like to pretend that I can write poetry. No, that's not it. I like to pretend that I can write beautiful poetry, when in truth, all I can write is this extremely bitchy blog. Maybe being an asshole is more contagious than I thought, or maybe I just overdosed on the pills.