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Thursday, Nov. 21, 2002 / 6:57 p.m. ~Revenge Fantasies and Random Observations~ The old man walking his dog. I'm anxious to know if he's the same man I see every morning, except the mornings I don't, and then I wonder if he's okay. This one was walking the other way, I wasn't sure it was him, but I thought, yes, how perfect, he found a companion. How perfect, if he's the same one I see every day, the one who makes it a point to take that walk, every morning, if he can. With a dog now. I'm hoping it's him. The leaf swirling on its way to the ground. As I drove past it I could see its trajectory, sort of 3D-like, more like I was manipulating the image by driving past it, making it swirl even longer before hitting the ground, just by causing a rush of air with my vehicle. I'd told him the trees are bursting with color, but the leaves are mostly on the ground. A day can make the difference. The swagger in my walk. I feel jaunty, confident, superior, like I know a secret, and the secret is� Wait, then it won't be a secret. Okay, I'll only write it here. The secret is that I will move on and they will stay. And they will suffer for past injustices. I'm almost through paying. It's almost over, my time in Hell. When the one was choking on her snacks, in between her phone calls, having shopped on her half hour break instead of eaten, I wished she'd choke and die. When the one came in late after her CAT scan, I wished she'd have a brain tumor. I walked by her desk and said it under my breath, "brain tumor", knowing she didn't hear me. I am a child. I'll meet them on the playground at recess and I'll kick them in their shins. I know just the right spot to disable them. And when they're down on the ground, their legs pulled up around them, grasped, clutched, in pain, I'll kick up dirt on their clothes, in their faces. And I'll take my bat, my ball, and I'll go home. I hear Kukla talking today, to Penelope, to the new girl, and she's so rude, so brusque, and I thought of the word, I have it, now. Yesterday she wanted me to tell her how I'd describe her, and I was thinking, "mmmm, vicious, nasty, hypocritical, bitch�", etc., but I just sort of made a "WHEW!" sound, and she kept at me, goading me, while everyone just sat there listening, watching her. Today I have it: ABRASIVE. In addition to nasty, vicious, hypocritical, bitch, horrible, evil, etc. ABRASIVE is almost too nice an adjective. Brain tumor, brain tumor, brain tumor. Choking. Horrible mangled car accidents at high speeds. Long, lingering, painful deaths. Financial ruin. That's a good one. I feel great. There is no playground, we don't have recess, but if I kicked them with these shoes, right in their shins, I could cause serious damage. I could take my phone and use it as a weapon, I could try to best their vocabularies in a 'rap battle'. Lung cancer for the smokers. Maybe force the lot of them to sit at the Symphony, maybe for an all Dvorak program. No, wait, a Liszt marathon. They'd have to sit quietly and listen. And the smokers couldn't go out for smokes. Here's how I'm describing what happened yesterday, here is the description I'm prepared to give to anyone who asks, but no one will: I got reamed, with no lube available. I got fucked up my ass by a giant telephone poll, the kind with the footholds at intervals all the way up. No grease to slide it in, it was not just a ream, it was a ram. And the voyeurs got off on watching. I wasn't going to write any more about it, but who can resist? I feel great, it's quite the catharsis to write of imagining my co-workers writhing in agony, suffering great pain, hardship, maybe embarrassment too. Let's not forget that. Kennel Boy has the cold. The virus. I want to imitate him coughing, like he did me when I was sick. I'd cough every few seconds, I couldn't help it, he'd mimic me, making fun of me. I said, "I can't wait 'til YOU get sick, I'm not going to show you any compassion at all, I'm going to do the same to you!", but guess what? I can't. I think it's cruel. I can't be cruel. I can write about wanting to set up a guillotine in the middle of the aisle, escort them all to it, push their heads down, lower the blade, but I cannot make fun of someone who is sick. Even when Kukla finds out about her brain tumor, loses her hair from the chemo, sure, I'll smirk inside, I'll think how yes, she actually does deserve to suffer for the pain she's caused others, not just what she did to me yesterday, but laughing when Penelope told her about her dog being hit by a car. Every other rotten thing she's ever done. I won't laugh at her aloud, I won't make fun of the wigs she wears to work to cover her splotchy scalp, I won't say how glad I am when she stops coming in to work, but on the inside, well, I won't be able to conceal my glee, my feeling that she got exactly what she deserved. The sky clearing after a rain. Blue appears, bright clean blue, and puffy white clouds, the sun is warm on my skin, it's almost hot, reminds me of Summer. There are storm clouds too, but they're in the distance, on the horizon. The way Norman runs when I reach down to pat her. She sort of hops off like a rabbit. I call her Fluffy, the name of my favorite stuffed animal when I was a child. I threw Fluffy away when I lived in my first apartment. Fluffy was in a bag, his hair had fallen out in copious amounts, I'd all but given up on him, my little Fluffy dog with the real animal hair (was it dog?, it wasn't rabbit�). I wish I'd never thrown him away. I seldom make that mistake anymore. I throw so little away. Classical music. It's in my ears. I feel great. I am enjoying the solitude, I am enjoying remembering who these people are, remembering to guard myself, to take care of me, to shun those who would seek to hurt me. I am capable of emotional collapse, this is my weakness. Now I need to move on to meeting a new person. It's tentative, but fairly definite. Either tonight (um, I don't think tonight is good), or tomorrow, or Saturday or Sunday. I'm not even nervous. I think it will be good to meet him. ***I wrote the above earlier today, whilst at work. Since then, I went to the Farmer's Market, only to find the ENTIRE place REARRANGED!!! Whoooooaaa, freak out! It's cool, but holy moly, and fagioli too, it's like, um, really different. I got only a few things, most notably my favorite body wash/bubble bath stuff, Kiss My Face aromawhatever Patchouli stuff. Yeah, yeah, the bottle's in the bathroom already, and I don't know the name, but it has a peace symbol on the front, made of flowers.... gotta run. Cost of the War in Iraq
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