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I have self-destructive impulses.

I have self-destructive impulses. published on

When I was in the room with the jerk yesterday, after the phone conversation in which he insulted his dad and lied to him about being sick, he started on this process where he called someone he knew, asked them for help with his program, found they couldn’t help, sat there and loudly said “fuck!” at the computer for a couple minutes so the rest of us in the lab would know he was coding much harder than we were, then called another person.

All through this, I was sitting there thinking how it would be very helpful to everyone involved if I said, all peppy-like, “I think you should call your dad. I bet he knows.”

I didn’t do it, because I just wanted the asshole to leave – he obviously either wanted someone to do his work for him or, failing that, attention, and if no one gave him either he’d just get bored and leave. Which he did.

And for about ten minutes just now a friend of mine’s girlfriend was yelling at him out in the lounge. To give you a sense of how sane this yelling was, the girl is an otakukin. She thinks she’s spiritually a Sailor Scout. I don’t remember which one.

She was being loud enough that I could hear her perfectly, but I couldn’t make out his responses. She broke one of his dishes (I’m pretty sure it was his because I don’t think she owns any) at the end of it, and I heard him say something worried-sounding about that.

I had this intense urge to go out there, all in my slippers with my big old flannel shirt drooping off me and my coffee mug in my hand, and kind of lean against the wall and, as though unaware of her presence, go, “Hey, dude?… I don’t like your girlfriend.” Then shuffle back into my room.

I wrapped my leg around the chair to keep myself from getting up.

It sounds like they’re gone now, so it’s probably safe for me to go to the kitchen and make hot chocolate.