Tarnation
◊ I totally don't deserve my reputation as a badass.
I haven't gotten into a fight since I was a little kid. Granted, I used to wrestle and box with the neighborhood boys, and I was in one catfight when I was 10 which ended with me punching the girl in the face, but I don't think that was anything worth milking for ten or twelve years.
There isn't much to go on, really. "Don't mess with her, man, she'll ..." What? Talk your ear off? Use her analytical skills to argue you to a standstill? Wave around a cigarette? Drink you under the table?
Well, maybe that last one's OK.
Anyway, it's not a very solid reputation. Anyone who knows me at all has seen that I'm a harmless puppy underneath the loud exterior. A harmless puppy with a taste for Jack Daniel's, anyway.
I think it's time for a makeover. Sympathetic, understanding, reasonable ... blah blah blah. Fuck it. That's won me a fistful of memories and a world of hurt. I've spent the last couple years brooding about the craziness lurking in my family's genes. Maybe it's time to embrace it. I've got a built-in excuse to go batshit insane on at least a temporary basis. Next time I'm headed into some kind of conflict, I can ditch the stupid peacemaker habit and completely fucking explode.
Oh, it would feel so good. Instead of trying to hold everyone together and keep everyone standing, I could just give in to that red wall I feel behind my eyes when I'm mad. It would feel like the mornings I wake up seething from a night of angry dreams, but sharp and fast and clear, without the muddiness of dreaming.
I don't want people to think I wonder if she'll tell another dead baby joke tonight. I want I wonder how many bones she'll break tonight.