I have a problem with anger.
I tend to observe the world around me and quickly become unamused with their pitiful antics and dramatic trifles. I developed this problem at a young age and have carried it like a disease for years. I don't think my close relationship with the sarcastic life lessons of Samuel Clemens aids either.
Opening scene, my first grade class, consisting of a small collection of fairy tail and Dr. Seuss books on a red shelf in the corner and roughly fifteen snot-nosed, raggedy children on stools with crayons. We were about to take a test on biology and some of the children misrepresented an albatross during class time. I being the little wealth of knowledge I had taught myself to become, was quick to offer my help and quickly give my friends the answer before the teacher, Ms. Agulair a lovely stout lady who always smelt of cinnamon with loose dark curls, called upon them. Instead of listening to me, a child obsessed with discovery channel and books who wanted to help my friends, I lost my lunch group and had to sit alone for the remainder of the year, reading books and talking to myself.
It seemed this moment would forever curse me. I never was able to stop learning and had a bad habit of thrusting in pockets of educated conversation in to deliberations among friends. I do admit, there are times when I come off as a 'smart-ass' to people who don't want to take the time to know me. Crash the gavel down and judge me, I'm human.
But was that really all that bad?
For this lack of sympathy for the individuals of this world who choose to neglect their conscious mind/right thought and instead take up the passions of ridicule and infliction of pain upon others, has made me, for lack of a better phrase, over the bull-shit.
You may wonder how I got through dredging years of school? so do I.
However, I do have, in a way, learned to cope with this fault of mine. I work daily on trying diminish it with pleasant thoughts and CNN, but when it seems to be all but gone, it flares back up on me like a case of herpes.
So here I sit, with my angerpes and a voice that sounds faintly of yoda telling me to not go to the dark side.
May I ask why is it the dark side is so good? It is much easier to hate and cut people down with my light saber of words then search my feelings and repair the galaxy with the force of compliments and understanding.
The dark side: hate+frustration= bigger base and cooler weapons.
How will I ever defeat it?
There is no local Mount Doom where I can dump this ring of an error into and simply be; a free little person who gallivants among rolling hills smoking pipe weed and eating delicious meats.
Another thing I hate, meat.
I've tossed the thought of moving to a distant land, maybe a change of scenery would do me good. But, I have done this all before and wind up back in the sand pit I started in. Of course there is the possibility it would look as if I was running from something. I don't run, and I am not wrong. There goes that option for now.
Back to reality.
The color black, although slimming, is not one of my favorite colors so therefore there is no way I could really be part of the dark side. I like to make a statement with clothing and frankly, Sidious would have no apprentice with coral TOMS and flowered shorts serving him.
It looks like I'll have to suck air and deal with the ignorant fools of the world.
Write a book.
There it is, a solution.
On to the issue of organizing characters and a plot line.