All The Rage.

Sorry for the absence. I haven’t been making time to write in my notebook, hence no blog posts.
I’ve gone back and forth about posting the below story. I post it here because I needed to write something. It does not put me in the best light, but it was part of who I was at that moment. I wasn’t sleeping enough and I was drinking way too much. I post it here not to show how “bad ass I was” but to show what an asshole I was. These types of outbursts used to rule my life. It took a long time to get over them, but I’m in a better place now.

Thanks for reading.

I have dirty mouth in best of situations, but right now I’m more than a little offended by what’s coming out of my mouth. I’m lost in the moment and not in a zen, one with the universe way.

A little over two minutes ago I was hauling ass in the empty right hand land of Prospect ave. When a girl suddenly attempted to move over into the lane. I don’t have a bell, so I yell. Not a mean, fuck you yell, but a “Hey please don’t hit me” kind of yell. I just barely squeezed between her front bumper and the curb. I’m used to this so I fluff it off, until she passes in the left lane again and I hear her yelling.

“You fucking asshole! What the fuck are you doing!!!”

Now I’m a little pissed and decide to educate her at the light, which has just turned red.

“Hey, how about instead of singing along with your radio you shut up and check the lane next to you before you pull over.” I say as I hang onto the passenger side of her car.  I let go and start pedaling away when I hear her screaming at me from behind.

“You stupid asshole! You’re supposed to ride on the fucking sidewalk! Get out of the fucking street DICKHEAD!!!!!!”

That was it. I turn around and head back to her car, but this time I roll up to the driver’s side. For the last several weeks I’ve been working my ass off. Three jobs, four hours of sleep a night and the last class I need to graduate. The has created a dangerous lack of patience, self-control, and general good mood. Factor that in with the fact that this girl almost plastered my ass all over the Prospect ave and I’m ready to explode.

I reach her car, turn my bike around and start in, slightly amazed at what’s starting to come out of my mouth.

Me: “Listen you fuckin’ cunt licker you almost fuckin’ killed me”
Her: “I’ll call the cops”
Me: “Fucking go ahead you fuckindicksuckingbitch and we’ll tell them how you almost ran my ass over.”

She opens her phone and starts to dial as we continue to yell at each other. When who ever is on the other end of her line picks up she says “hello”, but that’s all she gets out. I reach into the car and grab the phone from her.

“She’ll fucking call you back”. I close the phone and throw it back into her car and the screaming continues.  By this point I have called her every name in the book, twice. I’m sure I’ve even invented some. The light changes, but traffic doesn’t move.

I can tell she’s scared, and I don’t think she’s said anything for awhile now, but I’m not letting her get a word in anyway. Behind me I can hear people yelling.

I turn and see a security guard. “Hey! Leave her alone! Get over here” I turn and look at him.

“You mind you’re own fucking business asshole. This bitch almost killed me!”

Most people cut the “g”s off their f-bombs when they yell. I how ever savor every letter.

When I turn to resume the verbal lashing I’m giving this poor girl I see two of the security guards the downtown business pay to ride around town and attempt to keep shit straight. As far as I’m concerned with no badge and no gun you have no bargaining power. At the same time I’ve got to get to class and I’m sure they’ll call the real cops, if they haven’t already.

I look at the girl and tell her “Watch where the fuck you’re going from now on!”

I give the bike a small push, pull the mini lock out of my back pocket and slam it’s weight onto her hood and push off for real. The guys on the bike are getting closer.

I turn right on E. 9th and look over my shoulder. Their gaining on me. I pick up the pace. Normally these guys are fat and slow, but their out to get me and hauling ass. I do have one advantage, the willingness and the skill to run a light at a busy intersection.

When I hit 9th and Euclid the light is red and it’s damn near rush hour so the streets are packed with cars. I look over my shoulder, flip the bike guys the bird and slip through the light.

Four quick adjustments and I’m through the light. A couple handfuls of pedal strokes later and I’m at the drop point. I rush into the building and up to the ninth floor. I run in, throw the envelope down on the desk and tell the secretary that I’ll sign for her.

Back outside I jump on the bike and rush to class. I’m so shot full of adrenaline that I’m shaking. This makes it hard to take the test. It’s an hour of looking at slides in a dark room. Normally this is the perfect end to my day, but I can’t let go of what just happened.

After the test I walk outside and sit down. It’s over an hour later and I’m still shaking. I’m surprised I haven’t stroked out yet. I pull out my phone and call Chris. I tell him I’m fucking done. I can’t be like this anymore.

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