The cop pulled in behind me and I glanced down at the speedometer: 85 mph.  Hmmm…this could go either way.  I slowed down to 80 and moved one lane to the right, and he went zooming past.  I thought to myself, “Fuck.  I hate this time of year.”
Even for those of us who choose not to celebrate pre-fab holidays with the rest of the herd, the suffering is unavoidable.  Just try running to the grocery store to pick up your usual stuff this week: can’t even find a parking space, and if you do, you’ll have to deal with all manner of assholes buying turkey and god-knows-what else that they would never buy if they weren’t such abject yet oblivious societal slaves.  Look at their faces: these are not the looks of the truly grateful, of the deeply thankful.  Nope.  They are irritated at best, livid and pissed off at worst, because deep down they know they don’t want to do any of this, but their minds are so controlled by familial expectations and societal edicts that it would never even occur to them that there is, in fact, a reality that does not include slavishly going through these absurd motions.  And now I’m stuck waiting an extra 15 minutes behind them in line because of their inability to overcome the delusional security of social mores.
And then on Thursday itself, if you happen to have to commute or travel as part of your normal life, good fucking luck.  Tickets are significantly more expensive and hard to get.  Why?  Because somebody told everybody that this is what they’re supposed to do on this specific day.
And then, between then and New Years Day, if you happen to need to purchase any clothing or anything else from a retail outlet, good fucking luck.
Okay…gotta cut this short.  I have to go to the grocery store.  I’ll be taking the bear spray.

N.P.: “I’m Afraid of Americans (Nine Inch Nails V1 Mix) – David Bowie