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Evil dreams
Jan. 30th, 2002 06:26 amNot just evil - flaming death bitch evil.
I hate this woman. She doesn't even exist, and I hate her with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.
I was heading for swim practice, hadn't been in a while, but we were doing easy laps, lining up along one side of the pool, and I'm sure my subconscious is confusing aikido and swimming. I slide into line, haven't been in a while, and greet everyone whom I haven't seen in a bit. One girl - long blond hair, pretty, asks me about some hymns, and I happily hunt down my concordance and look them up for her. 143 or 136 or something. While I'm telling her what she wants to know, she reaches over, rips off one of the first inside pages of my concordance (only now it looks more like my Fannie Farmer cookbook), and uses it to mark her space.
Just... casually destroys my book.
(We'll ignore the fact that we're in a swimming pool.) Horrified, I stutter and then punch her in the nose. Left-handed, I think, so it doesn't do much damage, and I restrain myself from leaping upon her and trying to hurt her further, and she cops this entirely supercilious attitude. It's like she's looking down her (slightly bloodied) nose at me from an exalted height. She won't apologize for destroying a first edition published in 1914. Practically an antique, and most assuredly not hers, and she has no guilt for tearing out a page, and is practically laughing in my face.
I think about drowning her right there, since I have excess lung capacity, but I can't hold my breath very well when I'm asleep.
I leave practice early to get dressed, and come back while everyone's in the locker room to apologize to Sensei for leaving practice. He's very understanding.
I head for the corner store, where John, Meg and Ali are stocking the frozen foods (rather like the little gathering in the kitchen last night, only colder), so I can paint my story of woes to them. Only she's there, and she smirks at me and taunts me about the book, so I body check her against the dairy case and attempt to bite off her shoulder.
She leaves, laughing, saying, 'Thanks for the scars,' and I stare at the skin on her shoulder. There are depressions from my teeth, a tiny flake of torn skin that looks more like remnants of sunburn, but I have this sinking feeling involving lawyers. I wake up before I can start plotting her murder. It's pre-dawn, pre-alarm. Hobbes is curled up against my back.
She'd make a good K'immie.
I hate this woman. She doesn't even exist, and I hate her with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.
I was heading for swim practice, hadn't been in a while, but we were doing easy laps, lining up along one side of the pool, and I'm sure my subconscious is confusing aikido and swimming. I slide into line, haven't been in a while, and greet everyone whom I haven't seen in a bit. One girl - long blond hair, pretty, asks me about some hymns, and I happily hunt down my concordance and look them up for her. 143 or 136 or something. While I'm telling her what she wants to know, she reaches over, rips off one of the first inside pages of my concordance (only now it looks more like my Fannie Farmer cookbook), and uses it to mark her space.
Just... casually destroys my book.
(We'll ignore the fact that we're in a swimming pool.) Horrified, I stutter and then punch her in the nose. Left-handed, I think, so it doesn't do much damage, and I restrain myself from leaping upon her and trying to hurt her further, and she cops this entirely supercilious attitude. It's like she's looking down her (slightly bloodied) nose at me from an exalted height. She won't apologize for destroying a first edition published in 1914. Practically an antique, and most assuredly not hers, and she has no guilt for tearing out a page, and is practically laughing in my face.
I think about drowning her right there, since I have excess lung capacity, but I can't hold my breath very well when I'm asleep.
I leave practice early to get dressed, and come back while everyone's in the locker room to apologize to Sensei for leaving practice. He's very understanding.
I head for the corner store, where John, Meg and Ali are stocking the frozen foods (rather like the little gathering in the kitchen last night, only colder), so I can paint my story of woes to them. Only she's there, and she smirks at me and taunts me about the book, so I body check her against the dairy case and attempt to bite off her shoulder.
She leaves, laughing, saying, 'Thanks for the scars,' and I stare at the skin on her shoulder. There are depressions from my teeth, a tiny flake of torn skin that looks more like remnants of sunburn, but I have this sinking feeling involving lawyers. I wake up before I can start plotting her murder. It's pre-dawn, pre-alarm. Hobbes is curled up against my back.
She'd make a good K'immie.
