How nice to spend a couple of days not doing much at all. I don't really feel like editing right now, since I spent 10 hours doing quality control on data entry today. Makes me feel like looking at the most glaring error and taking it out for a drink. But I do feel like nattering on, so maybe I'll write something instead.
~
It's a quiet urge. That impulse to punch someone out. It starts somewhere around the stomach, where you're sick of listening to even another word. You repress the yell welling up in your navel. It's not that you couldn't, but the pang of satisfaction pressed against the nausea of results is just. not. worth it.
Or so you think. When the next phrase beats your ears you lurch in vertigo. Your wants have flipped so fast. The sound of your enraged screech falls behind; falls silent. The unwanted advice salts and peppers your swallowed tongue and you gag on the platitude.
If only there was a vaccine for the well intentioned. The corrosive rain eats through every umbrella proffered with a smile, and never notices it brought it's own cloud. Every stretch and slide to sink below their satisfaction. Every dance and glide wrapping their fallacious concern tighter to the infection.
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