First, a little venting.
This post goes out to the cum-guzzling, fuck-face, turd-munching, sack of shit, meth-head who stole my bike lock and battery charger. Your mother would have been far better off swallowing you than spreading her legs to allow your genetic material to replicate into the epic waste of skin you’ve become. I feel dirty and embarrassed to walk the same planet you exist on, and I feel tainted to breathe from the same atmosphere that sustains you’re worthless ass. Fuck you!
I get the lock thing – it’s a high quality, heavy-duty cable, and the combination was dialled in, so I can understand your pathetic, opportunistic, cum-covered sticky fingers for latching on to that one in a momentary fit of envy. But what the fuck are you gonna do with my battery charger? Answer me that one ball-licker!! It works exclusively in tandem with my bike battery, nothing fucking else. Do you have visions of trading it for another hit of whatever filthy, bathtub-cooked chemicals you’re currently hopped up on? Good luck there, fuckhead. Perhaps you stole it because you needed a new toy to shove up your well-stretched ass. You probably miss the notoriety from your most recent jail sentence when your boyfriend inmates gave you a gold medal for the most cocks plugged simultaneously into your sphincter. Fear not motherfucker, you’ll be back to visit your good time pals soon enough for the winter Cocksucker Olympic Games.
Okay, I think I’m done. And I truthfully feel better.
Please forgive the barrage of vulgarity and homophobic diatribe. I needed to get this out of my system. Now the healing can begin.
What did this idiotic violation teach me?
First, suppressing emotion is unnatural. If you take the New Agey stance of cramming your darker side deep within yourself to only acknowledge happy-happy thoughts, don’t be surprised if at some point your repressed grief unexpectedly rears its ugly head, or worse, manifests itself in a body ailment you will never make a connection to. When something needs to be expressed, don’t hesitate. Get it out, and be done with it. Harbouring negative emotions is like taking a sip of toxic waste but refusing to spit it out. Ventilation is the means to getting some fresh air.
Next, there’s no point getting too worked up over possessions. The more you do, the more your “stuff” owns you. I’ll get a new lock and charger. I’ll get over my inconvenience factor. If I have to walk for the next month awaiting my replacement part, so be it. My electric bike is a luxury, and I won’t be crippled without it. I’ll adapt, adjust, and carry on. And I won’t bemoan another second of it because the rage is no longer in my system. I won’t spend the next 3 weeks telling my story over and over to anyone who’ll listen. It’s done.
Inconvenience is irritating, but whether it’s a stolen bike charger, a broken alternator, or a deteriorating human body, there’s one thing we need to make clear in our minds – all things in this world are transient. It’s always just a matter of time before everything we hold dear break downs, disappears, or dies. Instead of fixating on what we deem to be an unfair turn of events, we’ll find ourselves much happier in acceptance of what can’t be changed, and find new solutions to move forward.
I won’t justify this circumstance as “meant to be” or “happening for a reason.” Those are cop-outs for people who can’t release their instinctive reactions to an unpleasant situation. I’ve vented, and it’s put my mind at ease. I’m not going to harbour thoughts of revenge, and I’m not going to radically alter my lifestyle into a human rife with paranoia, cynicism, and mistrust.
Luckily I’ve already mastered those qualities.
Tomorrow brings something new – maybe a stolen wallet, or maybe a winning lottery ticket. Maybe sun, maybe rain. Or maybe just a realization that whatever will be will be.
Well, I guess I asked for it. They stole my bike last night, and it’s raining. Que sera, sera. But the day is young, and the Universe seems to favour a certain balance – perhaps the perfect time for a wet and chilly 3 km hike into town. A lottery ticket is calling my name…
And now that stupid Doris Day song is stuck in my head.
I can’t stop laughing.