This morning I had an uncontrollable urge to punch Wayne Dyer in the nose.
Now, I don’t know Wayne Dyer personally, but I’m familiar enough with his work to know I can always count on him to tell me to “think positive thoughts and positive stuff will happen to you.”
In this morning’s Facebook post from a friend, he told me to “See the light in others and treat them as if that is all you see.”
And while on most days, finding sayings like that on my wall inspire me to click that little thumbs up button, on a few rare occasions — when I wake up on the proverbial wrong side of the bed — I want to hurl my computer across the lake behind my house and hope it lands on the bordering levee, where an Everglades creature in the preserve swallows it whole and regurgitates it into unrecognizable pieces.
Today was one of those days.
It’s those days when I overhear a conversation — any conversation — and I just stare at the person speaking (who sounds very much like the grownups in a Peanuts cartoon) and ask, “Are you stupid?”
It’s those days when I stab you with my death dagger eyes that speak louder than words when you do something utterly reprehensible … like say hello to me.
It’s those days when a dear friend who I haven’t seen since my 17-year-old dog was a puppy sends me a text message with a benign question like … “Hey, would you like to have lunch with me?” and the first response that comes to my mind is … “I’d rather eat shit and die.”
It’s those days when sarcasm is my spawn and terror is my twin.
On those days, don’t even think of telling me to have a nice day, unless your goal is to be humiliated in public and kicked to the emotional curb.
Have you ever had one of those days?
When you anticipate cashing in on the massage a friend got you for your birthday and you arrive for your appointment only to find out the code on the gift certificate is invalid. And the person who gave you the gift is in a time zone across the ocean, oblivious as to what’s about to go down in a place normally reserved for peace, quiet and relaxation.
“There’s no way I can begin the treatment until you give me a valid code,” says the therapist. “But you’re already here. Just pay for a massage and we can straighten this out when your friend gets back in town.”
“Right now the thought of your hands on my body is making me feel violated and just a bit too creepy for comfort,” I respond. “How about you pretend you’ve forgotten how to speak and just turn and walk away slowly before I take to Twitter and humiliate your children who have yet to be born?”
It’s those days when I know I’m a train wreck waiting to happen, but I don’t really care. Because getting on that train and crashing it on purpose sounds like the best thing to happen since chocolate married peanut butter and renamed itself Reese’s Pieces.
“Bring it!” seems to be my challenge to everyone I meet. “I’m here to play … in person, in e-mail, on social media, or any other communication platform of your choice.
Thankfully, for me and for those I love, days like that are few and very far between. I’m normally even-tempered and tend to keep things inside a lot. Perhaps that’s why when I blow up I have so much fun doing it.
But next time you experience the “3-year-old having a tantrum” side of me, and I say something that sounds a bit off to you, know that you’re being baited. And if you take the bait, well … don’t take the bait.
Let’s just leave it at that.