Wiggin' Out: Episode #1

The rage within builds. While walking Boo the other day a neighbor's big brown mutt charged us from their open garage. I shot at him with the pepper spray but missed. He got the picture, though, and stopped, at which time his owner came from around the side of the house, slow and unapologetic. She uttered the same response that all owners of aggressive dogs utter: "He won't hurt you." It took all I had not to give her a dose of pepper spray just for good measure, and so I left her with a simple, loud, "F**k." I'm tired of the thoughtless and the selfish, but short of all out medieval violence, I don't know how to rid my world of those people.

We've decided that it's just a matter of time before I simply wig out. I'm not prone to violence - which is probably why I'm in this mess - so I don't think you have to worry about seeing my mugshot on CNN any time soon. Then again, maybe you do. Running can only soothe the burning anger for so long and drinking only makes my tongue more of a liability than an asset. I don't know anyone who sells crack and meth is just too scary. I ask God to forgive my trespasses as I try and forgive those who trespass against me, but all that seems to come of those supplications is more trespassers. Karma (and the threat of prison) prevent me from swinging madly at the world. I wonder what I did in a past life to warrant being surrounded by so many people wearing blinders. Perhaps I was one of them once and my soul is paying its dues. Either way, I don't have much confidence that religion will save me from doing something rash.

The thought of pulling a Ted Kazinsky and living out my days in a shed in the mountains has its appeal, but 1) that's not high on Ida's To Do List, and 2) hiding only lasts for so long. They'd find me eventually; those you want to be furthest from are always on your heels.

I'm not sure what will ultimately send me into a tailspin. My guess is it'll be another dog incident, but maybe it'll be the texting driver that slams into my car or someone's kid chasing a cat or perhaps even a library patron that pushes my customer service Do Not Push button too many times. The pressure is building and I kind of want me to just explode just to get it over and done with. It reminds me of when Homer Simpson goes to buy a handgun and is told he has to wait 24 hours. Homer replies, "But I'm angry now!"