Tapping The Rage Reserves

If you are offended by profanity, this post is not for you. Avert your eyes. Run away!

A perfect storm of seismic hormonal shifts, a painful neck sprain and annoying people unleashed a tsunami of rage that had been smoldering undetected deep inside me for what must have been quite some time. There is no scientifically accepted scale for measuring a rage explosion but I would rank mine in between douche-drunk-dude-with-drink-thrown-in-his-face and douche-‘roided-dude-with-a-stubbed-toe.

A text from my ex set off the first wave. Not sure why this one in particular got to me but as I read it all I could think was “fuuuuuuuuck you!” I wanted to punch his tiny avatar face but distance and the fact I could not lift my arms prevented it, so I had to settle with another “fuuuuuck you!!!” Once the first fuck you was released, it was just one fuck you after another.

Fuck you weak-ass neck. Fuck you lady with no license that rear-ended me 2 years ago. Fuck you ex-boyfriend that was unsupportive after my car accident. Fuck you not helpful doctor. Fuck you hair. Fuck you sunny day when I don’t feel like walking. Fuck you pebble in my shoe I can never seem to find when I take it off. Fuck you shoe laces, stay the fuck tied for fucking once.

Hey, douchebag in the crappy car that signaled for me to walk and is now acting impatient, kiss my ass. Biker dude that told me, “have a blessed day” no fucking thanks and go the fuck away. Hey lady, your dog looks like a stick figure with a rug stapled to it and you should fuck off. Oh look at the sweet baby…fu…alright, the baby is exempt as it is too adorable but the yoga pants chick pushing the stroller can suck it. Lady in the grocery store walking while texting I want to trip you but instead my thoughts are telling you to go fuck yourself. Dude in the truck that just honked, fuck you, fuck off, and incase you can’t read lips allow me to try sign language.

I wanted to stand in the middle of the hood and just shout FUCK OFF at the top of my lungs until I went horse. Instead, I shut up. I’m old. I know the importance of a good filter and mine needed to be replaced. I have not spoken to any human for days. Every time my annoying cell phone pushes a notification at me, I respond with profanity mostly of the fuck followed by a pronoun variety.

There is no appeasing this mood. No burst of endorphins from exercise is going to make me stop wanting to tell the world to fuck off. There is no magic cure other than time and lots of rest. Chocolate cake would help, but I have been off sugar for over two months so breaking that streak would piss me off in a different way. By the way, fuck you sugar for being so delicious and unhealthy. You too fat, fuck off.

Slowly, I seem to be coming out of it now that my neck and shoulder are feeling better and can mostly move again. I am beginning to have thoughts that do not include profanity. But, until I am sure I will not blurt out some offensive remark, I will keep to myself and try to think of more creative ways to say fuck you; I am getting a bit bored with the basics.

An oldie but a goodie
An oldie but a goodie

Author: InteractThis

I am a woman of many moods and each one has her own soundtrack.

2 thoughts on “Tapping The Rage Reserves”

  1. thanks for the fucking great laugh. Now I don’t feel so bad telling you to Fuck Off the other night when you were laughing at me and my missing Fitbit.


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