It's back again. Ever have a friend who comes to visit uninvited? One that you feel guilty every time you see because you realize you don't really care for their company but don't have the guts to send them packing? Even though they feel like coarse sandpaper on sunburned skin, there's something oddly comfortable in being annoyed by them? That's how I feel about this prickly disposition of mine. It's back and I hate the way I love it.
I literally feel like my blood has gone acidic to the point of blistering me from the inside out. Creepy tingling skin, acerbic wit and sarcasm... lots and lots of sarcasm with a dollop of delusion. I am convinced few are clever enough to keep up with me. I am charged and fusing thoughts with words like an arc welder fuses metal. I like word humor... but is it really funny? Comic relief at the expense of others? The sad part is, I am really funny when I am like this. I want to shout at people, "Don't laugh! You'll only encourage me!"
Perhaps I should come with a warning label: "Today is not the day to ask me what I really think about _______________________."