Irksome Things to Me

There's tons more shit that bothers me, but here's a sampling. 

When someone here in San Diego says, "It's a beautiful day!" It's always a so-called beautiful day in San Diego. People lose their shit and flock to churches when theirs a steady rain! Okay, I might be exaggerating a little but, damn, they do act like it's the end of the world.




The dude who attends my therapy groups, who identifies as a "warror for Christ." I don't thinkhe's as extreme as the Army of God, but he coule well be in the Salvation Army.  That​ doesn't really matter. What matters is, he's manipulating group sessions to bear witness and passively shut down anyone who has a differing, non-xtian opinion. He declared yesterday that his relationship with Jesus Christ made all things better, and I wanted to ask him that, if Christ is helping him so much, why is he seeking assistence from psychiatric professionals? Should he not be right as fucking rain, a bright and shining example of our lord and saviours eternal mercy and love*?

*Please read terms and conditions regarding conditional forgiveness, retribution, and hellfire.
AWSAF cannot be held responsible for your lifelong emotional scars, you fucking sinner.

Hot flashes. I've been having them a lot lately and, last night, I got up for the bathroom, and a wet imprint where my body had lain was there, perfectly formed, on the sheet. My pillow was soaked. I'm actually battling dizziness from dehydrytion because I can't hydrate enough to accommodate the excess sweating. I'm not a sweater. I don't like to sweat. That is one thing I like about Southern California more than anywhere in the South - no humidity, and therefore, not nearly as much sweat. And if you do sweat there, it doesn't linger because the air is so wet, it has nowhere to go. No, in the California deserts, it evaporates quickly and coolingly.

Shamers. No one has any right to reprove anyone else for doing something they find unacceptable. It's none of your business, you fuddy-duddy! Even worse are the shamers of those doing something the shamers themselves used to do. Non-smokers make me want to set them on fire. And don't even get me started on former fat folks terrorising those who are still overweight.  How dare you? You know how hard it is, but you can find a smudge of spite your heart big enough to compel you to engage in a soul-scarring activity. Good for you! May it come back to you threefold, all in the form of fat.

Kids. Disrespectful, bullying, little walking Petri dishes that are often too loud, too smelly, and too ugly for proper public consumption. Their parents are even worse, especially if they feel entitled simply because they rutted and bred.

Whatever country I'm living in now. I don't think it proper to call it the United States of America, because we certainly aren't united on anything, and the state we're in is the State of Disarray. Whatever my fate, though, I refuse to go down without one hell of an 80s movie-style female Pagan Rambo fight!

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