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Mood Like A Week-Dead Rat by Ray Printer Friendly

Night time. Gotsta go to bed early tonight, gotsa wake up early tomorrow. Sucks. Nothiní goiní on: watched TV, cleaned the kitchen (half-assed job of it, too). Lousy night, man, lousy.

Losing thoughts left and right, hanging on to whispers. Bad mood. Sour mood, like milk curdled in the back of the refrigerator that you dare not touch. And it sits back there for something like six months before you finally summon up enough courage to just grab the handle and run it straight out to some random trash can. Thatís the kind of mood Iím in, for no apparent reason.

Blame it on the tide, blame it on the gnats (I guess itís gnat season here in the ATX, because theyíre freakiní everywhere), blame it on traffic, blame it on flat tires every damn time you blink. Whatever.

Feeling self-destructive in that special kind of way that has kept mankind going for centuries, has kept people inventing the future. Like this: if I was in NYC, if I was single, I wouldnít be posting this message. I would be out at some club, ignoring the fact that I have to be awake at something like six (sicks) thirty in the morning, ignoring the fact that I had a job at all. I would be reckless and stupid. I would be drinking too much and smoking too much and I would be ignoring reality. Living life in an entirely different way. Don't get me wrong--when I lived in the City, I didn't go out much at all. I'm just saying that tonight would have been one of those nights, where you just say screw it and go out and spend all your money and call in sick to work the next couple days or so.

Alas, man, alasÖ

I have the future to think about. I have to be responsible. Canít quit my soul-sucking job, canít just dodge Ďem until they hire someone to take my place. Canít spend the nights getting hammered and spend the mornings (and afternoons) trying to recover from the most horrendous hangovers in history.

Hell no, manóIím a grown up. Iím in love, I want a life with my princess, I want a happy ending. And you know what? Itís worth it. Every day that I go to my grimy job, dealing with grimy folkÖevery day that I listen to whiny screw-holes talking about how they SPENT A LOT OF MONEY, every time that I hear about how Iím about to LOSE A VERY VALUABLE CUSTOMER, every goofy-ass thing that I hear about twenty times a dayÖitís all worth it.

But it doesnít keep me from being in a shitty mood sometimes. For every dickhead that talks about how he feels he should have received better service, thereís a part of my brain that tells me go out, live life, fuck the rules and just go have a good time. For every three ďzero-percent financingĒ issues that somehow get screwed up and I have to fix, thereís a part of me that feels I deserve to strike out at at least one customer. But I donít. I donít hit them, I donít curse at them, I donít tell them that theyíre all just bitchy little cry babies that would have made the world a better place by swallowing some sort of super fire-cracker when they were three.

Instead, I just smile, I just nod my head, I just pretend that Iím listening.

Because shit, man, you have to have a reason for something, I guess. Even if it seems like total chaos would be the better decision. And living for a better future, I guess that works.

All I know is this: the future better be worth it, or youíre all gonna pay. Every single living organism on the planet, I will make it my personal agenda to make you pay. So work with me here, people.


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