Today was such a shit show, man.
It was beautiful outside. I woke up feeling rested, maybe a bit sore from some physical therapy on my spine. I retired super young and life is pretty nice for me… now. Still, I got a weird feeling when I was putting on my socks, as if something around me was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
You know what’s fun on sunny days? Taking my two cats for walks. I got my lady cat in a harness, told her little sister to be patient, and walked out to the porch. My back was hurting all the way up to my neck (so much that I can’t turn my head to the right even now, late in the evening).
As I stretched and watched my ginger girl flop around in the garden, the unthinkable happened. The retractable leash slipped from my grasp, and it started chasing her. I was in a back brace, holding onto a railing, twisting my spine in a such a way that takes a moment to untwist. She shot off like a rocket, up my driveway and onto the back patio before I could even get down my steps to the sidewalk. The specialty-fit harness and leash, somehow, came off.
Panic. The next fifteen minutes were full of panic. She looped the house twice before disappearing under the back patio, and… I completely lost track of her. Fuck my life. I would die if anything happened to my babies. I tried to remove my headphones, back brace, and tangled leash, but I was walking too fast for my spine and looking everywhere and I THREW the tangled bullshit to the ground. One of my neighbors (the same guy who comments on my yard if I can’t rake; the same guy who once dared to move my trash cans so he can’t see them) started chirping up, walking toward me, making loud noise while I’m looking for my scared cat.
“NOT RIGHT NOW.” 😠🤚
He kept walking, switching gears like, “Okay, young man, but I’m just saying…”
“HEY!!!” 🫵😡 I might be rich today, but I am USMC infantry vet who grew up poor, abused, homeschooled under an elite class family, and when I couldn’t take that anymore I lived on the street. I became a mean-looking motherfucker on the hood streets of Houston, and then I became the real human wrecking ball as I traveled across the USA with hardly a cent to my name. My history of violence is long and awful, and I don’t like that side of me. “I TOLD YOU ‘NOT RIGHT NOW.’ WHAT PART OF THAT DON’T YOU GET? IF I SAY SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU SHUT YOUR FACE AND MIND YOU OWN DAMN BUSINESS, BECAUSE I’M NOT SOME NICE HUMAN BEING LIKE THAT. YOU GET ME?! BACK OFF, AND LEAVE ME ALONE, NOW.”
No matter how big you are, it takes a moment for people to realize they’re being shut down with malice. If Dwayne Johnson were to emasculate a dude by screaming at him, there would still be a pause and maybe some clap back before things settled. I’m no different. I’m a big dude and I know that I’m built like a truck with a mean face, but my neighbor still mumbled as he turned away. I waddled my painful spine to my garage to get a flashlight, and accidentally ripped my garage door off its hinges. The human sized doorframe for the access door just… ripped the fuck off.
My back lit up like a forest fire of pain. I kicked the stupid beams out of my way and got my flashlight. Within ten minutes I’d found my baby girl under the back patio. Within an hour, she came out and I hugged her, cobwebs and all. Within two hours, I’d rehung the doorframe (better than it was), and everyone got a bath.
I’ve now gotten into fully blown “fuck off” conversations with two neighbors. My block saw me throw a snow plow at a drunk handyman dude who walked into my kitchen to get my attention for a UPS delivery (a delivery from an abuser which I was refusing). My block saw me intervene with two separate brawls that made their way up my block last year. Now my block has seen me shout a man down and tell him I’m not a nice human being who talks to people.
fuck