Shit is constantly happening to us. There’s all this noise out there, bouncing off walls and bashing your eardrums, from carhorns to expletives to the subsonic hum of radio waves on their way into outer space. Sometimes it hails on you while you’re standing alone by the side of the street.
Sometimes the shit has an author. They are purposefully designing it for you, customizing it for maximum effect. Somebody tells you that your ass looks fat, that your new haircut is interesting, that you look really tired. They ask what you’re doing here. Why the hell you don’t just mind your own fucking business. Or maybe they just laugh at you. Don’t you just wanna punch the asshole right in his asshole mouth?!
Control yourself. Take only what you need from it. It sucks to be the guy with the super-sweet facial tick who feels compelled to shout at you from across the room. The only thing worse than getting that angry, is a beatific smile spreading across the face of the guy you’re screaming at. We like to watch you laughing. But he doesn’t.
