Dangerous

Saturday looked beautiful. I was happy, excited and thrilled because I was finally going to be able to spend some time with someone I dearly missed. Of course, like in all the books, this person is oblivious.
Driving at 4.30pm, slightly aggravated- make that a lot aggravated. Driving fast, instinct telling me something was going to be in my way. She was right again. On that long stretch of road (19/1) a black Honda Jazz decided to neither look right nor left and coincide with my car. We collided to the orchestra of my shrill Kancil horn. I watched my shaking fingers guide the car to the side of the road (where a collage of men with nothing to do decided to gape at my profound cursing). I heard the way my mouth let loose a string of profanities. I felt the anger in my head, the way it boiled at my temples and reached for my lively dance beat of a heart.
I checked out the damage. Was not bad at all.

I approached the car as a tiger might encircle his prey. I was hungry for confrontation. I am not one for it usually. The lady had the audacity to ask me to wait for her brother. My fists were curled up as she told me I was going fast. I know I was, but you're supposed to look BOTH ways, smart ass?!

Damn, I was pissed. I don't remember the last time I was that pissed. My mom conveniently told me to call my Dad as she was at a very important meeting- at the hair saloon.
Jesus, Mom I didn't know you cared that much.
My Dad took extra long to answer his phone. I could already feel the unwelcome prick of tears.
Everybody's too goddamned busy.

TOO GODDAMNED BUSY.

Once I had to carry out a trial run for an experiment. My mom reluctantly surrendered herself to me. Of course, she ruined it by asking too many questions. She kept on telling me she couldn't hear the audio clip. She failed the test.
Running to Dad, eager to have another subject, was greeted by a simple, Oh no, I'm too tired. Please.

NOT TODAY.

My mom asks me why my room is in a mess. I want to ask her why her life, why our lives are in a mess. Everything has to be socially desirable. Social. Desirable.

I had no idea I was this angry. I thought I was happy because I finished a Counseling Assignment and spent the last two hours watching Pretty Woman, a brilliant movie by the way.
Boy, was I wrong.
No, wait. I am happy, if not that, then satisfied.
I don't need to be Happy off my rockers Happy.

Just happy would do.

If you're a workaholic then you don't go through phases. You'll be busy all the time. Everyday, all day, all year round. You'll forget the time, you'll be living through it. You'll forget what day it is and what month it is. You'll say '07 instead of '06. You'll be ahead. That ain't such a good thing.

How do you know it won't be like this, 10 years down the road? Will you still be here, or will you be too deep into it, so much so that you won't know I crawled out the back door?
Will you still be here?
A better question, would I ?

Million-dollar question: Is it even worth it.