I've never been able to smile convincingly when I didn't mean it. Old pics of me as a kid stand as testimony. But deep in the black fog, it was painful even to try.
Nearly every time I went out and had to be around others, some well-meaning-but-should-mind-their-own-damn-business jackass would always say that, or a variant.
"Oh, things can't be that bad! Come on, smile!" [/blockquote ]
Lady, you have no goddamn idea. Why can't you just leave me alone? If I told you I'd end up screaming and crying and vomiting all over your lovely shoes. In retrospect I wish I could have. Vomited, I mean. Projectile vomiting, all over every damn one of them. Okay, not really. But it would be nice to be able to weaponize vomit.
I was walking around The City one bright October day, maybe '03, when I felt well enough to go out, get some chow, read the paper and get toothpaste or mouthwash or whatever. One of the growing number of empty retail spaces was the temporary location of one of the Halloween stores, where I'd just been poking around.
I crossed the busy street, one of the main ones in The City, and stood waiting to cross in the other direction. Just then I heard laughing as a carload of teenaged boys squirted me with gobs of what I can only guess was hand lotion or sunblock. I stared at the car as it turned in front of me, squealing its tires as it went up the hill. I read the license plate easily and made sure to memorize it, but couldn't. I crossed the street and went into a drugstore, I guess to buy something. The sales clerk came up to me.
"Oh, you poor man! I saw what they did to you!" she said, as she brought over some paper towels to help me clean off the mess. I just stood there, something like a wet puppy though far more pitiful, possibly smelling like one.
My day was pretty much ruined and I headed home, my brain overclocking, as usual.
"Hell, I would have done something like that as a kid, and probably did. They couldn't have known," I thought. "Why does this kind of shit keep piling on me? How could I possibly deserve this?" I returned to my desk, where the corners of the walls were already yellow thanks to my chain smoking.
Projectile vomiting wouldn't have reached far enough to hit the car full of kids. But it would have been nice to hit the little bastards back.
= new reply since forum marked as read