...Just surrounded by dead chickens.
Yes, you read that right. I am (metaphorically) sitting in a room with dead fowl at my feet. Chickens that I, in only an attempt to love them, killed by strangulation. Any of you who have read "Of Mice and Men" will know the story which I am referring to. You just start off by touching the chicken. Oh, look! It didn't bite. Now, you move on to stroking said chicken, and finding that it is still relatively unskittish, you continue in this motion until you realize your hands are around its neck, and you have choked the life out of this fragile creature.
Creepiness aside, I have performed this dastardly act too many times in the last year. No, I am not a Satanist, or even someone who enjoys touching chickens. They are actually pretty disgusting. But, I have found myself approaching a situation, or a person with the goal of only being friendly, and ended up strangling them with enthusiasm and/or craziness. Let's examine the most current scenario, shall we? (*Warning: the following story will not shed a favorable light on the author, but y'all knew I was crazy already. So there. Judge away.) The scenario: Me, at the dance on Friday, confused by overtures of friendship from earlier in the day, going against all good sense/kicking the dead horse/losing my head/falling back into old patterns...you get my drift. The result: Becoming absolutely invisible on Sunday morning, not even worthy of a hello, and a drive home in a rage that goes against the lesson I learned from both my mother and Phil Connors: "Don't drive angry!" Although I didn't hit into a pole/drive off a cliff/cause any accidents, I was not a very safe driver. Also, I was mad at myself for not knowing when to quit.
If any of you out there who are reading this have any idea of how to help me, please let me know. Please save me from myself. I apparently can not be in charge of my own life, as I am making an absolute dog's dinner out of every situation I encounter/create.
Also, if you know of any good jobs out there for me...
1 comment:
Yeah, I'm not one for the good advice! In my disturbingly short time on the single scene, I managed to scare away at least 4 guys; the only difference being they were usually willing to make out with me first. Only after the initial macking fest did all my crazy come out, apparently, and they would stop talking to me. I don't think you can be mad at yourself for doing or saying what you really feel, no matter the consequences. That being said, I have kicked myself hard on more than one occasion, it is human. Don't be ashamed of the crazy, it's inherent(look at me!) and infinitely better than the stupid and the clueless.
Andrea
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