  How soon after kicking meds before I turn back into the crazed troll that I was before I began this 15 pill regimen? Using my passport (as usual) at the grocery store nearly turned deadly for a pair of unknowing clerks. "Don't you have anything else? " "No. It's a passport. " "We don't take these.
" I feigned a smile and explained to them (with a line forming behind me), Well, why dont you go double check that policy with your manager? Its not my fault. Ill be fired if I let you use that thing. Ok, its not a pistol. That thing sounds vaguely like Im talking about an item too horrible to be mentioned by its linguistic code, p-a-s-s-p-o-r-t. No, of course I realize its not your fault. (more fake smiles) Just, you need to register with the federal government to own such a thing.
(always helps the folks on the other extreme of the IQ bell curve to repeat a part of their sentence in your reply). Its a bit more involved than a simple drivers license. Whatever. And she walks off. I make a genuine plea of apology to the five folks behind me, clearly unsure of how or if they should react. I may smile like a blithe asshole when I have to, but theres never an escape from the edge to my voice when Im clearly not in the mood for Lupitas high jinks.
All are happy to oblige. The goddess (what eyes! ) in line directly behind me mutters something audible to only me: Its not like you even have to be a citizen to get a drivers license. Subtext clear. So the checker returns with my well-stamped, holographed document with the Ralphs managers approval propelling her shuffle back to her station. Id be fired if I didnt ask.
Youre not going to feed my kids. No, I dont think Id want that trouble, thank you. Interaction ends. I grab my bags and walk briskly away. So like, I dont give a shit about your kids. Even less about you, you stupid fuck.
Im only two pills away from jumping across the conveyor belt to grab your hair for a handle as I bash your head into the register. But somehow I was only mildly irritated. Like when you know youre right, and the jury will come through in time to verify your innocence. I knew this, and held in to myself the warm comfort of a blog entry in development. So by the time Im 100 paces from the store, I hear a shout behind me. Hoping it was the hot mama behind me, I groaned to myself to see Lupita waving a dollar bill in my direction.
I didnt give exact change. The bother was too much for me to stick around to have my due metered out by Ms. In-Charge. I turn and thank her. What else do I say? Well, I came up with something, didn't I? Nice of you.
You could have kept it to help feed your kids. ________ Back to my home with the doors locked and a decided attitude of general animosity towards my fellow humans. Tinged with the ever-present undercurrent of dispair. I could just dismember myself if it didn't involve such a mess. And no, Im not going to dinner with the girls. I made other plans today already that emptied my bank account, and Im really not in the mood for scraping together a feeling of gratitude for not having been flaked on after all.
And quite honestly, it wouldn't pair well with this inward hostility that's brewing. Maybe had I bought that copy of Secretary instead of the Bjork album, I'd be up to my elbows in my own blood at this hour. Then again, the day ain't ova yet. I'm shivering with disrupted energy. 
