Yeah, I haven't blogged in a while. Sorry to those of you who were hoping for more action from me in this...segment? Area? Whatever you want to call it.
But hey, it's that time again! I'm irritated, some might even say angry, time for Grimm to put on his Rant Pants again! Excuse me while I go get changed. *Stomp stomp stomp*
Okay, for folks to get a general understanding of the meat of my rant, you need to know a little more, or maybe just a little about me. I work in a convenience store. Not a large one at a crowded intersection, no, I work in a small one across from what most would call low-income housing. No, before you say it, I have no problem with people that don't make a lot of money. I work in a convenience store, remember?
No, my problem isn't with the lower class people, my problem is with people of lower class. It's like I was told over and over again while I was growing up, "Trash is trash, no matter what color or how rich someone is."
Now, I'm writing this at around two in the morning, so most of my online peeps are going to bed or going to work, which leaves me, an insomniac with little in the way of ambition or work ethic, with little to do but play video games and navel gaze. Sadly, I've beaten most of my games.
But back to the topic. Me hating the majority of my customers at work. For a long time (I've been working there for almost four years), I couldn't understand my own vitriol towards my customers. Not that I would dare show it to them; in the interest of keeping my job, I wouldn't dare to offend any of the cretinous, small-minded, hateful little...poop kickers. I stumbled upon a possible answer today while in the midst of a minor, caffeine-fueled panic attack. My people were falling offline like dominoes, and I needed to try to put the frantic, "Holy crap my mind is vibrating out of existence" kind of feeling into words to someone, so I molested the only person I could find online at the time. (No, you pervs, not that kind of molested. Unless that's what does it for you, and then who am I to judge?)
I'm not going to say who it was, unless they want to reveal themselves. Some folks like to keep it private when DM people suddenly pounce on them and start spewing their innermost thoughts on them like it's group therapy night at the Exorcist's house.
And in the midst of my confused, rambling, scared-slash-irritated-slash-angry-slash-hurt mental vomiting, something interesting and/or useful came out. And here it is! Although I've edited it just a smidge.
"Nah, I'm just frustrated that every day I feel a little more of myself die, that every day is just another ponderous grind of monotony, that every day I expose myself to the spite and venom of dozens of minds smaller than mine, and in doing so, feel the scope of my own shrink.
Because every day, I look at people, and I KNOW that I'm better than them. And it makes me just as little as they are.
And I hate myself, even as I hate them.
And so I die a little more."
And when I wrote that, I had to sit back and contemplate on what I had just said. Was it true? It may not be what I think, but is that what I feel when I'm at work? Now, hold up, midnight philosophers, before you start muddying the waters with such deeply complex questions as, "What is truth?", perhaps I'd better just get to my point.
I don't know if it's true. It's a powerful thought on it's own. Such introspection is something I feel better left to mysticism, down paths it's just not in me to tread. Does this mean I'm afraid to face them? Heck if I know. Do I hate myself? Probably. For all I know, self-loathing is inherent to our species. It would certainly explain a lot. (I'm looking at you, The Spanish Inquisition.)
Anyway. Sorry guys, it wasn't really much of a rant, was it? Just sort of me being ramble-y and navel gaze-y. Or maybe it was just another round of "Poor, pitiful me."
But hey, people who wanted to see another post, look! Another post!