When bad moods get you, what can you do? I’ve slammed my head in the door before. When flinging your boots across the room doesn’t work and you’ve sliced open the salt container with the kitchen knife, decapitated your flatmate’s Spice Girls and left their poster in tatters, it’s time to get creative. You’re about to burst into tears. You feel about as isolated as a penguin in the Sahara. There’s anger, but no filter, because you’ve recently become a mellow type of fellow. You gave up the alcohol, so you’re not going to go out and get comatosed. You gave up expressing your feelings (because the alcohol was always the cause of that anyway), so you’re not going to go and shout at all those people who screw you, like you used to. No. All you’re going to do is play No Woman No Cry at full volume and blow your worries away.
Five minutes later, you’re fine. Happy. What was the problem? It’s usually a misinterpretation, anyway; yours, or theirs. I mean, what can you do if everything you do is misinterpreted? Live in a box? Well, I tried that. You’re happy, then you’re sad, you’re angry, then you’re mad. Face it, it’s not your problem, though saying so doesn’t help. You feel as guilty as sin and as angry as hell, but it’s not your fault (tell yourself, tell yourself, tell yourself).
Life in that box is a hard one. You spend your days reading the floor because if you look at anyone, it means: a) you have a crush on them, b) you’re insecure, or c) other: specify as required. You’re locked in silence because if you’re nice to anyone, it means: a) you have a crush on them, b) you’re insecure, or c) other: specify as required. And smile: no, don’t do that. Laugh? Hell, no! Politeness? You’re insecure. Awareness of those around you? You’re insecure. Haven’t you got the message yet? Do nothing. Say nothing. See nothing. Be nothing.
The other option: do the supermarket thing. Think of yourself, me, me, me. You’re number one, you’re one of Thatcher’s children, you’re the one and only, so be an arrogant bastard. Be loud, because: a) everyone will have a crush on you, because you’re number one, b) you’re it, and c) other: justify as appropriate. Be the stereotype that everyone loves, you’re one in a million, we all look up to you, and worship you. Down on our knees, we pray to you. While we lick your boots, are you really going to care if a little, little nobody misinterprets what you do?