Earlier this evening I wanted to smack something. I wanted to smack something really, really hard. Like the sound a bat makes as it hits a ball that you know is going to fly out of the ballpark.
Instead, I went to my room, slammed the door, let out a roar and counted to 100. Then I began to blow the steam off.
Eventually it was time for dinner and I had to come out of the cave.
I ate dinner, played cards, and did the dishes. I ate 2 bags of popcorn while I watched a dumb movie where Woodie Harrelson played a gay guy with a southern accent (except he sounded more like the Godfather than Col. Sanders) who wore fancy schmancy double-breasted suits and a wig.
Now it's time for bed and the smacking urge has left me feeling tired.
I want to get to the point in my life when I can let a stupid comment pass by me like the ball soaring over the grandstand. I want that to happen before my father dies. I don't want his power to make me insane hanging on forever.
Unpleasantly sulking ME