Rambling From the Box

Apologies to Henry Rollins for practically jacking the title. I'm not at all in the mood to ask the man for permission for anything. Fuck if he'd even talk to me as it is. As you may be able to tell, things aren't so great. Somewhere between anger and rage, sadness and morosity, and depression and death, sits Tom.

And he has no idea why.

With a headache and a bad attitude, I'm sitting here. Eyes are ready to pop out from staring into a radiation hole for hours. I'm slowly letting my life drain away.

I attribute this to women.

I hate women.

Every last one of you. I have the utmost respect, but I wouldn't give a shit if everything bearing at least one ovary just dropped dead in the next five minutes. Plants too. My anger knows no bounds tonight.

I hate men too, by the way. And for most of you I have no respect. Why, you ask? It's probably your fault that I have come to hate women.

You see, surprised and scared constant reader, men have been treating women like shit for way too long. And I've been known to fall into those trappings myself. And I fucking hate myself for it.

What this leaves us with is millions of scarred women and women who are grotesquely shallow. This causes them to act in ways that make me despise them.

Keep in mind, this is about everyone, not anyone in particular. I'm fed up with the world and I'm pissed off that I still have to be a part of it.

This recent surge of anger has caused me to replace my usual "cutesy" journalings with this evil, profanity laced tirade. I even had notions of being poetic this week.

I'm too angry to be poetic.

Of course, this anger is routed in sadness, which in turn is routed in fear. Yes, just like in Star Wars. And dammit, the Dark Side is looking so tempting right now.

I'm not sure what I'm afraid of. I don't know what I'm sad about. All I know right now is anger and the pain that comes with it.

I want to go fucking chew my arms off so I don't have to do this to myself and my readers anymore. Or maybe I'll just wait in agony until my head clears up and I can get all shiny and goofy again. Or maybe I'll just kill everyone.

Option B sounds the safest and requires the least work on my part, so it wins. I'm going to go lie down and continue to feel myself going entirely insane here in the box.