ranting

I am pissed off. And I am inclined to bore you with it. You see I am one of those people who delight in burdening others with the little irritable things people shouldn’t normally be bothered about. It is a trait, I suppose innate in me, one that I am not proud or ashamed of.

It always starts with little things, trivial, unimportant stuff that makes me the butt of jokes, the subject of secret glances, the topic for the day. It is not something I relish. It is not something I look forward to. But it happens. Because of my inability to control my temper, my inability to hide how I feel about certain things. It is a little disconcerting and somewhat uncharacteristic of me. But what can I say? I am a slave to my emotions. Something I’ve been trying to change for the longest time.

I have just started reading “Notes from the Underground” by Dostoevsky and I can’t help but wonder how in the world he is able to capture the sentiment, the emotion of someone so precisely. It seems he has looked into my brain, sifted through its mess and written down what it contains. He is brilliant, to say in the least. And reading him gives me some kind of reassurance. That I am not the only person who feels as screwed up or paranoid that I’m being screwed up.