The Tantrum

A week of frequenting public places, still, in order to achieve as much as I can possibly achieve that requires achievement on my behalf has chipped away, subtly, at my levels of tolerance.

Also, my neck still hurts.

I also spend much of my time travelling from one place to another in order to attend to my required achievements, thus taking sizeable chunks out of my day and … why the bloody hell can’t things just be easy.

Also, why the FUCK can’t people chew with their mouths closed.

Also, if you’re wearing headphones to watch some shit on You Tube in a public, and unanimously understood ‘quiet place’ such as a library, plug the damned things in!

Thus it was this morning that I had some I don’t know what blaring on one side of me, which, sadly, did not have any effect on the excruciating noise of the same person CHEWING WITH THEIR MOUTH OPEN. I tried to breathe deeply, block out the sound, and swear, quietly, as I awaited the connection to the cyberworld.

It was then that the person on the other side returned, and my breathing deeply was rendered even more stressful.

She’d been out for a smoke, and I very nearly suffocated.

I did try to remain calm, but even I have my limits, and I quietly, subtly, slammed everything around and moved myself to somewhere less comfortable, from a sitting perspective, but far more tolerable from a sensory perspective.

I breathed a deep breath, reminded myself this is very much a first world problem, and made attempts to prevent the ‘rest’ of my life from filtering in and making it okay for me to have a low tolerance level at the moment.

It all builds up; teensy little bits here and there that chip away.

Also, despite the weekly phone calls I was getting from Telstra a little over a month ago, happily informing me that Nothing had progressed, since things had progressed I cannot get a phone call returned. It is starting to, quite frankly, piss me off and I am somewhat more annoyed at those who call Telstra (and other, large companies) with the intent to be angry and annoyed and do lots of yelling, for I am far too nice and understanding and realise that whomever I get on the end of my call has probably dealt with a number of offensive and spoilt brats, who happily yell, swear and abuse whomever is on the end of the call.

If people could just back off a little, and allow those of us whom have had over two months of building frustrations get a little out, I’d appreciate it. I know it’s not their fault that my life is currently stressful, but I am getting pissed at the too-much-now-not-enough communication.

I do what I can without physically maiming those whom I feel could use some maiming right now, perhaps, on the instance of the person two seats to my left being rendered with an injury that requires his jaw to be wired shut so he STOPS CHEWING WITH HIS MOUTH OPEN (ARGH!) and head home to do what needs to be done there.

A glance at the diary indicates we have a birthday party – well, Chippie has a birthday party – to attend in the middle of the day on Sunday and I should probably do something about a birthday present.

I don’t wanna.

Still, I collect him from school, arrange to meet the rest of my family down the street so we can organise for the weekend, and shuffle Chippie off to Smiggle so he may select a gift, or a small sample of gifts, for his school friend (a girl).

In six-year-old boy mind, this actually means he wanders around saying “I like this, can you buy this for me” and not actually responding to any of my “do you want to get this for her?” questions. I would have made the decision on my own, but the week had rendered me incapable of deciding very much at all.

In fact, it wasn’t until I had a glass of wine this evening that I reminded myself I was actually in a position to just grab whatever the hell I felt like and not have to ask him anything at all.

Isn’t our vision wonderful in hindsight? And after a glass or two of lime vodka mojito?

Anyhoo, as it was, brain not function good and I appeared hell bent on him just giving me an answer.

He, again, translated this as picking everything up and telling me to buy it for him.

In the crowded Smiggle, I stamped my foot and said “Just pick something! I don’t even wanna GO to this party!”

Two Smiggley shop assistances laughed. I don’t think they appreciated my predicament. Bastards.

I looked at them.

“I HATE SIX YEAR OLD BIRTHDAY PARTIES!” I said.

Or yelled.

Stamping my foot some more.

“It’s in an indoor play centre with shit coffee! I. Don’t. Want. To. Go!”

They laughed some more. Although, they did mutter some vaguely empathetic phrases.

Eventually, hands full, we make it to the checkout where they can’t tell me where they keep their Valium.

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