Look.
Well, I got super freaking pissed about something today. I do react to things. I react. React.If I hadn't grown up in the environment I did, what would I think about having my own opinions? What would my opinion be on that?The only way I am okay with being wrong is if I am screaming obscenities at the world the whole while. In my head, of course. And knowing that I'm wrong in a lot of things—I don't necessarily know what, I just know I am bound to be—makes me try to ignore everything. And in that, I'm sure I'm wrong.The flag of Peru waves proudly behind me. I rejoice, with sparkling eyes and benevolent grin.
And this is the point where people tell me the answers. And where I *feel* they are probably correct. And then where I wonder if I *feel* that way only because I grew up in the environment I did.I got really super freaking pissed today. It wears off slowly. And it gets my blood roiling. My head blood. The blood that makes me think. But I don't want to think. I just want to run.
I wear a tie every day.