Goddamn, I almost made it. Seven fucking months of working, and I ain’t felt the old itch of grabbing a shiv. I’ve been a model prisoner, just doing my time here on earth and maybe getting some time off for good behavior. Ain’t no stabbing left in me.

Today, though, man-o-fucking man, I could feel the temple throb, the quickened pulse, the thump of adrenaline, heart rush tension. Thick tension, the kind you need a knife to cut through to cut the heart right out.

Nah, today was more of a reminder that on the absolute suck scale my old job sucked like a crack whore hired by David Oreck. (Fuck, man, that is just so stupid lame. I pretty much hate any line that relies on similes from planet moron for the funny.)

Seriously, a day like today would have been 90 times worse, atomic, nuclear, if I time shifted to the job before. Mostly because you just knew the day after and the day after that and the day after that and the day after that would suck just as long and as hard.

Today, though, was just a bit of cranky, blood pressure rising bullshit that’s all over tomorrow. No stab fantasies required (fictional or comedic or what have you). Weirdest yet, the boss lady basically just said, “Put your foot down and tell them that’s not what you do. No need to be nice, you gotta set some limits.” ‘Course she’s all educated and shit so it didn’t sound like that. But, you know, I had gotten kind of used to the boss in the old world kind saying, “Why’d you going and make me have to hurt you like that?” Only again, more educated, but I got the message about how it was me that caused the bad stuff.

M. reminds me about how when I talk about the old job and the new job I sound like a former victim of domestic abuse. He suggests dropping the past. However, I’m holding it a bit longer, if only to make my self taste a bit more sweetness out of the changes in the past year or so.

By the way, the other thing that keeps me from writing the mock violence in this here weblog, is the part of my gig now that uses a part of my own mind and interests. Fucking weird shit that is. Like meeting with some folks from the TV behind cinematic tours de forces like “Taxicab Confessions” today. Or, like, how in that meeting someone from the Big Name Brand operation used the term “vlog” talking about the videoblog dealios, and like, yours truly was alone in that universe of that meeting room of having heard the word before. Fuck, I could even link to some here, like this guy. I know we’ve been in the same room and are one degree of separation through a couple of different folks.

Here, even toiling in the siliconest of Silicone Valley ‘hood, I am the pro from Dover, I am the seer and knower of web voodoo. I kind of get paid for a certain amount of surfing.

I guess if there were a bell tower, cream puff little me in the Cali style would just be waving and saying, “Have a nice day.” Candy is better than blood spurts in fountain formations.