It started out an unusually shitty morning. I found out half my store got refunded; the worst co was working, an autistic tyrant; the nerds still didn’t have my coffees for the comic books I gave em; and then I spilled my jar of coffee on the floor. I was fucking pissed.
I wanted to cuss someone out, call em a bitch. Violent fantasies raced thru my head. I looked at my hardcover dictionary as a potential weapon.
on top of all that, I ate 4 cinnamon rolls for breakfast and I felt all bloated and full of self-loathing. Something had to give. This was gonna go one of two ways: either I kept on like this, in a grim mood, until I took off on someone. Or else, I could practice what I’m always preaching and change my own thinking.
So I stopped and meditated. *Your thoughts become your reality.* I listed the things I was grateful for. And then there was this little tidbit of self-consciousness: as I dialed a number on the phone, I noticed my arm for what seemed like the very first time. Was that really mine? Did I–cant believe I’m saying this–have guns now?!