Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 10.12.2011 Arkansas Weekly:
Just a heads up. I am in a FOUL mood.
So it’s pretty much a given that this particular column will be enveloped in poisonous negativity.
First, let me fully state the obvious: I have no apparent reason to be in a foul mood. With the exception of an expanding belly, I have no signs of ill health. I have two children I adore and cherish; an immediate family that still loves and cares for one another; and a great group of friends. I have a roof over my head. Central heat and air. And I can enjoy a nice steak now and then.
I have zero room to b****, if you’ll pardon the censored profanity. I’m not unaware of the blessings in this life.
But for some odd quirk of the emotional circuitry today, I am in a hateful, sour and thoroughly rancid state of mind.
How did I get this way? I haven’t been in such a negative mood in years, yet everything has been gnawing away at my seemingly exposed nerves today.
The simple act of someone not answering my phone call tightens my jaw. When I try to text something, my thumbs keep flubbing the letters. And on the other end of the Rob-is-slowly-going-wacko-today spectrum, if I get a phone call or a text, I get so angry, bothered and irritated, I want to throw my phone across the room and against the wall, hoping it will shatter in a million pieces.
Other trivial things start setting me off. I’m on the road this particular day, making a four-and-a-half hour trip back to Arkansas, and every time I get behind a slow driver, I grip the steering wheel and let out a load of expletives to myself.
Listening to the radio to pass the miles, I hear the right complain about the left and the left complain about the right, and they both sound like spoiled little babies. It makes me want to pull out a handgun and shoot the radio like Harvey Keitel did in that one movie where he also, unfortunately, appeared naked. (And I could have done without that particular image again, thank you.)
Then I see White Castles in just about every town I drive through. Why can’t Arkansas have any White Castles?!? I like those soft little dwarf burgers! Sure, an hour or two later, the heartburn kicks in and I have to make a few restroom stops, but at the time, those mini suckers hit the spot!
By the time I hit the Arkansas state line, my blood pressure is somewhere in the 220 over 700 range. When a log truck pulls out in front me in Imboden and then a tractor – A TRACTOR!!! – outside Smithville does the same thing, I am raging!
Can this day get any worse? I think.
Maybe if I turned on some music, my nerves might be calmed a tad. I switch to a station playing Kenny Chesney.
Bad move.
What is the appeal of this twerp? His songs sound all the same, and he so much wants to be the next Jimmy Buffet, it’s pathetic. And I’m not a Jimmy Buffet fan! Plus, Buffet would never sing about a tractor being sexy! What the hell does that mean anyway?!? A sexy tractor? Tractors are ugly and covered in manure. Do I now have to cover myself in manure to come across as sexy? What am I missing?!? Argh!
Next station. Britney Spears. Kill me now. She can’t sing. Her songs sound the same. And you can practically smell the skankiness emanating from the radio. Yet people still buy her stuff which, in turn, encourages her to spit out more slut music. Congratulations America on your musical taste. We’re all going to hell.
I have a major headache by the time I finally reach the apartment. I pop three Advil, knowing that my liver will simply love that. I go to the bathroom, and the flusher won’t work. I now begin looking for a gun, a sharp object, or wonder if simply jumping from my second story deck will do the job.
I need to lay down. I’m beat. Perhaps, if I just fall asleep for the night, I’ll wake up in a better mood. My body relaxes. My lids slowly begin to become heavy. Slumber is just a few sweet breaths away.
Then it hits me.
Aw, crap. It’s deadline day. I have to write my stupid column.
Just a heads up. I am in a FOUL mood.
So it’s pretty much a given that this particular column will be enveloped in poisonous negativity.
First, let me fully state the obvious: I have no apparent reason to be in a foul mood. With the exception of an expanding belly, I have no signs of ill health. I have two children I adore and cherish; an immediate family that still loves and cares for one another; and a great group of friends. I have a roof over my head. Central heat and air. And I can enjoy a nice steak now and then.
I have zero room to b****, if you’ll pardon the censored profanity. I’m not unaware of the blessings in this life.
But for some odd quirk of the emotional circuitry today, I am in a hateful, sour and thoroughly rancid state of mind.
How did I get this way? I haven’t been in such a negative mood in years, yet everything has been gnawing away at my seemingly exposed nerves today.
The simple act of someone not answering my phone call tightens my jaw. When I try to text something, my thumbs keep flubbing the letters. And on the other end of the Rob-is-slowly-going-wacko-today spectrum, if I get a phone call or a text, I get so angry, bothered and irritated, I want to throw my phone across the room and against the wall, hoping it will shatter in a million pieces.
Other trivial things start setting me off. I’m on the road this particular day, making a four-and-a-half hour trip back to Arkansas, and every time I get behind a slow driver, I grip the steering wheel and let out a load of expletives to myself.
Listening to the radio to pass the miles, I hear the right complain about the left and the left complain about the right, and they both sound like spoiled little babies. It makes me want to pull out a handgun and shoot the radio like Harvey Keitel did in that one movie where he also, unfortunately, appeared naked. (And I could have done without that particular image again, thank you.)
Then I see White Castles in just about every town I drive through. Why can’t Arkansas have any White Castles?!? I like those soft little dwarf burgers! Sure, an hour or two later, the heartburn kicks in and I have to make a few restroom stops, but at the time, those mini suckers hit the spot!
By the time I hit the Arkansas state line, my blood pressure is somewhere in the 220 over 700 range. When a log truck pulls out in front me in Imboden and then a tractor – A TRACTOR!!! – outside Smithville does the same thing, I am raging!
Can this day get any worse? I think.
Maybe if I turned on some music, my nerves might be calmed a tad. I switch to a station playing Kenny Chesney.
Bad move.
What is the appeal of this twerp? His songs sound all the same, and he so much wants to be the next Jimmy Buffet, it’s pathetic. And I’m not a Jimmy Buffet fan! Plus, Buffet would never sing about a tractor being sexy! What the hell does that mean anyway?!? A sexy tractor? Tractors are ugly and covered in manure. Do I now have to cover myself in manure to come across as sexy? What am I missing?!? Argh!
Next station. Britney Spears. Kill me now. She can’t sing. Her songs sound the same. And you can practically smell the skankiness emanating from the radio. Yet people still buy her stuff which, in turn, encourages her to spit out more slut music. Congratulations America on your musical taste. We’re all going to hell.
I have a major headache by the time I finally reach the apartment. I pop three Advil, knowing that my liver will simply love that. I go to the bathroom, and the flusher won’t work. I now begin looking for a gun, a sharp object, or wonder if simply jumping from my second story deck will do the job.
I need to lay down. I’m beat. Perhaps, if I just fall asleep for the night, I’ll wake up in a better mood. My body relaxes. My lids slowly begin to become heavy. Slumber is just a few sweet breaths away.
Then it hits me.
Aw, crap. It’s deadline day. I have to write my stupid column.
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