Do you want anything killed?
I hate my life and everything in it and if I could, I would hurt something right now. With my bare hands. I'd squeeze and strangle until I drew blood, I wouldn't stop until I heard screaming or ripping or cracking...All right, now that that's out of my system, I feel slightly better. God. I didn't use to be so fussy. Okay, that's a bit of a lie, I've always been fussy to an extent, but never to this extent. The other day, this guy in front of me was walking too slow and I swear to God, I thought I was going to choke him to death. I never used to meet the tiny inconveniences of Bangkok life with such vehement violence, but there you go, me, on the dusty streets of the Venice of the East, ready to choke the very life out of a pathetic little man for walking a tad slow. What is wrong with me? Okay, rhetorical question, but this is my reasoning. It's like all my life, I was walking around with 'x' amount of weight - this is the "weight" of my family, my friends, my life in general. I was fine with this weight; more than fine, I was ecstatic. My life was great! Then, along comes a spider and they add their weight to my burden - at first, it's heavy, and it's hard and I think to myself, "I can't take this." But I persevere and then, amazingly, it gets easy, it gets to the point where you can't remember your life without that extra weight. So what happens when the weight falls off? In my case, I lost my balance and I never gained it back. I can't seem to orient myself. I'm eternally spinning out of control and well...Blame that for my suddenly shorter fuse. Or the work. Probably the work. Definitely the work. And my spinning head.
Final thought: Pain hardens, and great pain hardens greatly, whatever the comforters say, and suffering does not ennoble, though it may occasionally lend a certain rigid dignity of manner to the suffering frame. Antonia S. Byatt