By Donnie Darko

I feel it the minute I walk out my door.

It does not matter if the sun is out or if it is cloudy. It is independent of weather patterns. The rage is just lying there, under the surface.

I begin to walk and there’s a heavy-set person in front of me, waddling side to side, almost taking up the entire sidewalk. I’m not sure which way they are trying to go….which way are you trying to go you fat fuck!? Fuck, get out of the way! I speed past them, walking angrily. The rage is now climbing, but it is not yet at its full potential.

I head towards the subway. I like to leave early before things get too early. I am trying to get to the train but, of course, there is another fat fuck in my way, waddling through the turnstiles. I race down the escalator and get to the platform just as the train doors shut. Fuck! I mutter under my breath. If anybody is watching me on that tube, they will see what a psychopath can look at when only at half of his or her zenith.

I stand on the platform waiting. I want to pace back and forth, but tell myself that will look crazy. There are only a few people on the platform, but with each additional passenger reaching the platform my heart begins to race. I can see one of these unfortunate souls walking in my direction (for I am at the end of the platform, far away from any of these mouthbreathers)…click, clack, click, clack…go the heels pounding against the platform as I begin to sweat. I’m calmed over slightly when the sounds of steps stop at least 10 feet away from me.

I panic nervously as the train arrives, only to be calmed once again when I realise I will have a seat. The person next to me is wearing far too much perfume however. Oh well, can’t win them all. Beggars can’t be choosers in the game of life. I sit there with a grim and angry look on my face, hoping to deflect all potential chatter bugs from thinking of smiling at me or initiating useless small talk.

The train stops and I am forced to change platforms on to another train. The panic sets in. I am walking fast but I find myself getting highly agitated by those speed walkers…as if a few seconds is going to save them from the torture ride into work. The train arrives and it is predictably packed. Someone hesitates at the entrance to the train so I give them a slight body check as I walk on by, stepping further into the train. I would’ve preferred to smash their face into the pavement, but that is illegal.

I get off at the stop before the heart of the financial district because I learned that tactic saved me from committing angry outbursts at people. It also potentially saves me from assaulting any unfortunate moron. When I get to work I feel like I’m suffocating. The open plan area we have all become accustomed to must be giving me enough stress to shave off years of my life. I don’t know what it is, but something about being able to smell every scent and hear every sound of all these people, people I would never otherwise socialize with, gives me headaches.

The day drags on and if I don’t get a workout in before it’s over, then god help anybody that crosses my path on the way home. The agitation is at its zenith at the end of the day as I battle other commuters in the reverse scenario of what occurred just 9 or 10 hours earlier. If I have at least burned off some energy, there is less of a chance of me wanting to smash anyone’s face in.

When I finally arrive at home I am drained. I don’t want to, nor am I able to, socialize or do anything productive. I just want to drool on the couch in a semi-coma. I have had enough of being around people. I need solace. The rage. It takes everything away from me. The rage. It’s always under the surface, ready to rise at any given moment. Is this rage in everyone? Or is it just in me? The rage. The rage will be back tomorrow, bubbling under the surface as I leave my home, but for now it’s time for peace and quiet and the only enjoyable aspect of my day.




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