I is for Ogre, O is for Angry

I is one Angry Ogre. All day yesterday I stewed over being told to "get help." What the hell kind of thing is that to say? Of course I say crazy, scary things in my sleep. I do that when I'm awake, as well. So what?
Furthermore, if I cared about someone and they were speaking in lunatic verse while sleeping, I'd be inclined to talk it out with them first. I wouldn't show them the door and recommend psychiatry.
Thanks for that advice.
Why not just tell me that I'm not important to you? It's as if you're saying the same thing.
You won't even tell me what it was that I said that freaked you out. Why didn't you wake me up if I was having horrible nightmares? It wasn't until after nearly a day of anger and confusion, that it dawned on me that you sat there and watched me suffer who-knows-what horrific visions and nightmares.
And watched.
And did nothing except pass judgement and declare me unfit.
That's cruel and insulting.

Thanks for taking the time to get to know me. If you had, you'd understand that I have to say/write/play crazy shit in order to stay sane. Otherwise, I'd be like you-repressed and afraid ,without any productive way to channel all that excess energy, good or bad.
Maybe Jesus and television are enough to make you happy, but that's not enough for me.
Except during football season. While you're at Church, me and Jesus'll be kickin' back and watching the games. He's pretty cool, for a liberal. He can turn tap water into draft beer and He never welches on a debt. (He bets on the Saints. )

In addition, I would like to extend my gratitude to you for not gossiping about our private business with the other women at work. Unlike men, women never say things to each other like:
"Guess who I fucked this weekend? Wait'll you hear this..."
Yeah. Right.
I can tell as soon as I get to work that word is out.
No one flirts with me.
No one jokes with me.
No one even talks to me, unless they need a problem fixed.

That's not entirely true. I still have some work-pals. I'm just angry that you would tell anyone at work about any of this. Yes, I know I'm putting this on the web, where it'll be seen by over several people-BUT- they don't know your name. They don't work with you. You don't have to wait in line with them at the cafeteria and endure their scrutiny as they try to figure out what's wrong with you.
Now, I do.
Thanks.

What did I say? Another woman's name? An ode to axe-murder? Oedipal Text? Big deal.
We all think crazy thoughts. It's how one acts on them that is important.
Today, I thought about throwing a chair through the window of my damncube. Crazy thought.
I also considered tossing all my paperwork onto the floor, dousing it with lighter fluid and seeing how many marshmallows I could toast before the sprinklers kicked in.
Hmmm...this doesn't sound so unreasonable. Maybe I should see a shrink.

You know what a shrink would say? He'd say, " you seem to use humour as a coping device, a defense mechanism for addressing negative stress and emotional discomfort."

Well, duh. Isn't that better than using a razor blade, a jar of pills or a gun? Can't we just skip the obvious and go to the Rorschach Test? Ink blots are pretty. They remind me of snowflakes and bloodstains.

Shrinkperson would reply, " let's discuss these suicidal feelings and the accompanying implied violence and hostility."

I'd have to kill him.
And myself.