Anger has it’s moments. Kind of.

I have had previous issues with anger.
I have beaten my anger down, fighting it tooth and nail until I became the victor. It cost me a lot.
But today, I am angry.
Todays anger is brought to you by a variety of things. Mainly, idiots.

So I enjoy the hustle and bustle of retail, but I never remember even mildly cheeking a shop worker as a kid. Generally every person in a place knew either your parents or your parents friends. If you misbehaved, either got a clip round the ear or a mouthful by a person who would then inform your parents that you’d been behaving like a little shit, so your parents could tell you off too.
Today I listened to vile mouthed children who are convinced that squeezy stress boobs “feel like the real thing, innit” and “I wish this was a real gun, I’d be so gangster”. When one of my team asked them to leave, they continued to cheek him and mime shooting me. I felt mildly affronted. Then angry.
Guns are for cowards. You want to kill someone? At least have the balls to get up close and do it with your bare hands.

Then the tills went mental while I was cashing up. Argh. But solved and done. Then the shopping precinct closed half it’s doors causing a major fire hazard and more importantly blocking my exit to my pole class. By the time I was done walking round the whole damn place trying to find an exit my class had already started and I was furious.

When I can’t do something I get frustrated, I get angry at myself. When I get angry, I fumble, I stutter and a fail. Which makes me angrier. So suffice to say, I’m not at pole dancing tonight.

Then I get home to find the postman thinks some random from some place two post codes over has moved into my house.
No. No. No. No. No.

Thus I am sat at home, with cats, vodka and Hannibal, writing my book and calming down.

Ps. Greebo has just sneezed and head-butted a wall. Boo has just fallen asleep with her face pressed into the floor. My book only has a few more chapters to go, then it’s finished and I shall start looking for publishers or agents. Huzzah!
I love my kindle, but there’s nothing like opening a real book, smelling the pages and enjoying the feel of the paper on my finger tips. Beautiful.

Pps. Thank you for listening to this rant. I feel better for letting it out!


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