It's A Goddamm Rhetorical Question
How much is a person supposed to take in life before they crack? How much shit upon shit upon shit does an individual have to endure before they go crazy and start killing people or themselves or some living creature.
I was just laying in bed sleeping like most people do at two in the morning. The new cat jumped into bed meowing like he has done for weeks. Never shuts up. He climbs over my and all of a sudden in the daze of sleepiness I realize he is pissing all over my chest. My orientation stumbles between disbelief and uncertainty. Is this really happening? I mean really happening? Is this a dream? Is this a fucking joke?
I swing my hand around and smack the cat off the bed. My T-shirt is literally soaked through with urine and my only fear at that moment is getting off the bed as quickly as possible before the stinking fluid gets onto the sheets and soaks through to the mattress.
Then rage kicks in and I spend five minutes wandering the half-dark apartment for the cat. Finally finding him, and knowing full well he has no idea he's done anything wrong, I take the piss-soaked Tshirt and jam it in his face screaming. I don't really care that he has no idea. After he hisses and cowers, having never seen me in a rage, I whip the thing at him as he runs off. When he tries coming down the hall again I scream at him and he runs back.
Poor little thing doesn't know anything is wrong and I don't give a fuck.
So I am sitting here now half-crazed and exhausted, almost fearing going back to bed because what could possibly happen next. I just want to open the back door and let the thing run out. Would that be the right thing to do? No. But, short of strangling it to death what option is there for me right at this moment that will satisfy me. He peed on my chest. This isn't like he accidentally scratched me... or even like he peed on the floor. IT WAS MY FUCKING CHEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why does this stuff keep happening to me? Even in the small amount of good I do in my life, everything goes fucking bad. I wish I could cry. Or that I was heartless enough to throw the useless sack of shit out the door. But, I am a weak fuck and deserve to get pissed on in my own bed. I deserve all of this. And I shall have it all in spades.
I was just laying in bed sleeping like most people do at two in the morning. The new cat jumped into bed meowing like he has done for weeks. Never shuts up. He climbs over my and all of a sudden in the daze of sleepiness I realize he is pissing all over my chest. My orientation stumbles between disbelief and uncertainty. Is this really happening? I mean really happening? Is this a dream? Is this a fucking joke?
I swing my hand around and smack the cat off the bed. My T-shirt is literally soaked through with urine and my only fear at that moment is getting off the bed as quickly as possible before the stinking fluid gets onto the sheets and soaks through to the mattress.
Then rage kicks in and I spend five minutes wandering the half-dark apartment for the cat. Finally finding him, and knowing full well he has no idea he's done anything wrong, I take the piss-soaked Tshirt and jam it in his face screaming. I don't really care that he has no idea. After he hisses and cowers, having never seen me in a rage, I whip the thing at him as he runs off. When he tries coming down the hall again I scream at him and he runs back.
Poor little thing doesn't know anything is wrong and I don't give a fuck.
So I am sitting here now half-crazed and exhausted, almost fearing going back to bed because what could possibly happen next. I just want to open the back door and let the thing run out. Would that be the right thing to do? No. But, short of strangling it to death what option is there for me right at this moment that will satisfy me. He peed on my chest. This isn't like he accidentally scratched me... or even like he peed on the floor. IT WAS MY FUCKING CHEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why does this stuff keep happening to me? Even in the small amount of good I do in my life, everything goes fucking bad. I wish I could cry. Or that I was heartless enough to throw the useless sack of shit out the door. But, I am a weak fuck and deserve to get pissed on in my own bed. I deserve all of this. And I shall have it all in spades.