What exactly is my state of mind?

I know it's racing. It's not going anywhere though. I'm running familiar pissed off laps around a mental track or irratibility. My thoughts sound like I'm venting a narration to some omnipotent viewer outside of my own time explaining my actions.

"See! See that?! That's what pisses me off." That and everything else I can see or think of.

"Look at these fucking idiots. All congragating in front of the damn front door. Is there anywhere more obviously inconvenient for people to stand around and drivel to each other? I've got to wade through a bunch of sheltered, naive, smiling, bible thumping christian, incoming freshman just to get inside the coffee house. Standing around wearing their scripted hearts on their strategicly wrinkled t-shirts sleeves. Clogging up the coffee house I would rather have completely empty and absolutely quiet. Wearing an expression of satisfied, scared shitless, pride that says 'I spent last night in my own dorm room without my parents and that means I'm an adult.' "

To be perfectly honest I feel absolutely selfish and base. I am enjoying it, enjoying like we sometimes enjoy small pains. I think I feel like it's honest and real. I'm just letting go of the culture and fears that hold me back from being my perfectly awful self. I want to vent at the top of my lungs and yell and scream and piss everyone off. Piss them off so much that they all attack me. I wandt to start a fight. I want to start such a brawl that I can punch and kick to my heart's desire and then fall down from exhaustion to get my ass kicked till I black out. I always wonder if it's weird how sometimes I feel most alive when I've just fucked something up bad. Go all in and lose it all. Everytime I've endulged myself to losing I can remember leaving the table feeling satisfied. What is that?

Right now I feel like I've got all the right answers and I just want someone to say anything so that I can correct them and crush their misconceived notions. I want some guy to come up to me and get in my face and say, "You're a fucking idiot. You want to know the truth, this is everything that's wrong with you and why everyone in this room is better off than you". He would snarl at me and he would shout out every dispicable thing I've ever done in a room full of codescending sneers from rich little white girls holding martinis and leaning against velour pillow cushions. He would finish and everyone in the room would purse their lips and narrow their eyes in satisfaction and think to themselves, "Yeah, he just got told, dang that was brutal, he must be emotionally destroyed". Is this a desire for home? The final judgement?

Then triumphantly I would stand up and get in the destroyer's face and say, "You think I don't know that? You think I don't intimately know all the sick things about myself? You fucking dunce. Who the hell do you think you are to speak up as an authority on my wickedness? I know my wickedness far better than you do and its bad enough to make you shit yourself in fear. You think you've shocked or impressed me with the giant balls you think it took for you to say those things out loud? You insignificant little shit. Look at you. You smug little shit, so satisfied and patting yoursef on the back because you think that your long thought out dissimilation of my own personal brick wall was devastating and I was helpless to hide all my blemishes from your overpowering truth. Fuck you! You want to shout em out, go ahead, I'm tired of all of you sitting their wondering at my deeds, conjuring up little fantacies of how simple I am and building your own ideas of the evils I've done! Well here they are". Somehow I would then shout out a long list of all my evils and laugh in there faces that are quickly losing their color, "take a good look you little shits, they're far worse than you could have imagined, but these at least are real! These are honest, and real, and nasty, and true, and they're mine so fuck off!"

Then they would all become embarrassed and slink out of the room and leave me alone with quiet so I can do my work.

What are these fantacies? Why do I have them? Why do I feel fine with the state of mind I'm in; knowing that tomorrow I'll be in a completely different state of mind and be able to write something genuinely sweet and endearing?


10 minutes later:

I went outside and had a smoke. I don't really smoke, but every now and then it's just right. I was fancying myself "Mr Bad Ass" taking long slow drags on the sidewalk. Then some women walk out of the coffee house holding their babies. I quickly got up and walked 10 yards out of their way so that my smoke would come no where near their babes. I thought to myself, "Oh yeah, your soo evil aren't you. Mr Bad Ass, afraid to smoke around a baby." My mood quickly deflated.

I sat back down with a wry smile for myself and feeling quite cathartic. At that moment I felt fine. More than anything I wanted be sitting next to a beautiful lady whom I had just viciously vented all that I have written. She wasn't scared or intimidated by my mood and temper. After exhausting my agitation she'd look me in the eye and laugh at my silliness. Then I'd laugh too.

I walked back into the coffee house buzzing and relaxed and was met with song that I somehow felt was just for me. "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad, if it makes you happy, why the hell are you so sad?" I felt like it answered some question that I have been trying to ask, but couldn't find the words for.

I said to myself, "I don't know? Does make me happy? Am I sad? If it does make me happy why the hell am I so mad? What makes me happy?"

I mentally giggle as I return to my seat.

Anybody out there feel me? Am I speaking anyone's language?