Jovial fat men

People have been pissing me off a lot lately.

I find myself tiptoeing closer to that tenuous edge of the point of I-will-likely-do-or-say-something-I-will-eventually-regret. (Who says little boys don't grow up? I gained the maturity to realize that I do stupid things. Now, do I have the wisdom to prevent myself from acting upon these impulses? That has yet to be seen) But back to the point. People have just been pissing me off lately.

And nothing I do makes me vent this anger. I tried to laugh it off. I try to bury it. I try to run it off. (I've discovered that angry running leads to often-too-fast-running that leads to the cramping and the shin splints and the other ailments that ail an overweight and out of shape twenty nine year old reflecting on his mortality) I try to do this and I try to do that. But the fact still remains, people piss me off.

I hate to admit it but lately I've been getting angry at soccer, something that I supposedly do to blow off the steam that accumulates at work. I know. This is something that I'm supposed to enjoy and take lightly. But I guess the blatant idiocy of other people makes even the running and kicking of medium sized balls less enjoyable. (Plus the constant reminder that I am out of shape is not just a sobering realization. More like a kick in the ass every week)

I hate it that a fatter guy than me on the team feels the need to tell me how to play my position. Especially when it is evident to me and other people around me that

1. He is fat, in fact fatter than me
   
2. He's fatter than me
   

I know. I'm petty. I'm making light of his obvious inability to not eat, but still, it is mild idiocy like this that makes not enjoy the thing that I am supposed to be enjoying. I know I, myself am not an Adonis (I'm still skinnier than him). I should make myself humble and just accept his direction and constructive (and often times wrong) criticism. I should. (But I won't)

And that's the problem. I won't let go. I hear the back of my head going tick, tick, tick. And another problem. When in the past, I used to get angry and stomp off and destroy something (it was quite constructive, my destroying of things. Usually involved fist into walls and other inanimate objects. Once again, I was young and I thought, in my great, unfathomable intelligence and intellect, that my fist could somehow displace the now-quite-obvious plethora of structural integrity and strength of the objects that I was striking. I know better now.), now I find that clever and frankly horrid and mean things (albeit funny, if you have a twisted sense of humor) leap out of my mouth. It's like the filter that once was there that slowed down these witty and crass (can something still be witty, if it is crass? Can it be witty because it is crass?) comments from ever escaping my lips until two hours after the incident occurred has be decimated by the tenacious erosion known as sarcasm. (Okay, none of the comments are witty. They're just crass)

Perhaps it's the corrosion of alcohol on my brain. The higher brain functions involving social etiquette and good naturedness have been rendered nearly obsolete, devolving me into a snide and cynical being full of anger.

Wow. I just became my tenth grade math teacher that used to ridicule me for never quite knowing the right answer to any of the questions than me. (She was fatter than me as well. Am I noticing a trend of sorts?) So much for the illusion of jovial fat men.

God, I need to lose weight.