Didn’t mean to start blogging just yet, but I am waitging for Joe to comke tell me that supper is ready, and I am bored with Facebook and porn.

And I am not going to start playing a video game when I could be interrupted at any second. I can’t enjoy myself with that kind of thing hanging over me.

I hate being interrupted. Really, really hate it.

So here I wait, uncertainly. If I had done my usual thing and made my own supper, I would have eaten already and be like halfway through my blogging by now.

This is why people like me end up being loners and control freaks.

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Back from dinner. Chicken burgers and rice. Classic.

But yeah. I really hate interruptions. They cause me a nearly physical kind of pain. Like I have suddenly been yanked from my comfortable groove into the cold cruel embrace of the unknown and therefore feared by default.

I am just not geared for rapid transition. My initial reaction to sudden change is blind panic. And not the ‘crouching in a dark corner freaking out’ kind of panic.

More the ‘huge dude goes berserk’ scenario of my nightmares. It’s hard to tell from the outside, but walk the sharp and narrow edge of madness pretty much all the time. I am keenly aware of the potentially explosive nature of my contents and know that it would be very dangerous to let them get overheated or punctured.

So I can easily see myself in those scenes from movies and TV where the big huge biker dude is freaking out and it takes like five cops (or orderlies, or whatever) to even try to control him.

That could easily be me.

I first realized this in an appropriate place : on a plane.

Patient readers know that I have a problem with air travel that has absolutely nothing to do with fear of flying^[1]. It has to do with the inherent incompatability between being huge and being claustrophobic when trying to travel by air in an era when the seats are getting smaller all the time.

I mean, my last flight was a decade ago and I barely made it without going full “bull in a china shop” as it was. And that flight was only from Toronto to Vancouver, which is around three hours.

I could never make it these days. Seats are even smaller. It would be first class or I can’t go. If I ever had a globe trotting career, I would either end up spending a lot of money on seat upgrades or getting REALLY familiar with Xanax.

Anyhow, it was on that flight that, as I was freaking out from the levels of confinement, I realized that I could totally end up as one of those raging fat dudes. All it would take would be something bad enough to overwhelm my usual psychological defenses and tip over the giant bubbling cauldron of pain, fear, and rage at my core.

Once that happend, all bets are off, because that wouldn’t even be me at the controls any more. It would be some animalistic lunatic version of myself with all the coolness and restraint of Evil Kirk.

And the worst part would be, well,. what do they do with giant sized lunatics on a rampage? They restrain them, of course.

And that would only make things much, much worse. If I was freaking out from claustrophobia, putting me in handcuffs or the like would only kick my panic into a whole new gear and who knows what I would do in such a state.

And what would the end result be?

Me waking up in a cell somewhere. I would finally regain my senses only to find myself locked in a cage.

And that might set me off AGAIN.

I should stop talking about this. I am just freaking myself out.

But it does make me keenly aware that the difference between a law abiding citizen and a dangerous lunatic can be as small as whether or not the person made their bus.

My point is..,.. I really hate being interrupted?

Sure, let’s go with that.

Hating interruptions naturally leads to a need for control. After all, the only defense against random interruptions is predictability. And the only way to guarantee predictability is to control things.

Or at least, that’s how a Taurus sees it.

But I am aware of the more efficient solution : getting used to it. It’s far less expensive in the long run to be capable of handling surprises than to have to put in all the energy and forethought it takes to prevent them.

But a solution is only superior if it is implementable, and I am not sure I could pull that one off. I might get better at handling certain kinds of situations but I don’t know that I am capable of shifting my basic temperament to one better suited to the sudden.

So planning, predicting, and paranoia it is.

Still, the people in my life, at least, know that springing something on me suddenly pretty much guarantees that I will say no to it. And if they don’t take the hint and keep pressuring me to do it, “no” will turn into “fuck off and leave me alone!” pretty fast.

Freaking out can turn into lashing out pretty fast.

And I am no growling puppy, harmless and even adorable due to how small the threat is and how ferocious the actor.

I’m a big huge fat dude with a lot of issues.

And even in a state of primal rage, I would still be hella smart (or ‘cunning’) and that would make me far more dangerous and unpredictable than some out of control drunken hillbilly of a redneck.

Then again, maybe this is all just stories I tell myself to justify my suppressing myself so hard and so thoroughly.

But can I really take that chance?

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.