Saturday, 28 July 2012

The Bitch Olympics

If there was a Bitch Olympics, I reckon I would have won a hell of a lot of gold medals in my life-time. Okay, so that sounds like I'm not really a nice person. I don't agree. Basically, I'm a kind-hearted, open minded, generous person who has a high capacity for generosity and working with others. But every now and then, there is a bitch inside me who has to come to life.

'What about me?' is her high pitched catch cry. She takes her pointy, painted nails and grabs me from inside, behind my heart, squeezing it so hard it's about to burst out of my chest, like sauce being violently squeezed onto a hot dog.

All can be well for a day, a week, sometimes even a fortnight. I can feel mild-mannered, calm and patient. I can be clear headed, make logical decisions, give wise and sage advice. I like myself when I can do that, I feel proud of my achievements, I forgive myself for past wrong-doings. But when the gold-medal winning Bitch emerges, she smashes all that to smithereens.

'You're hopeless!', she cries, snarl painted all over her face. 'What a crappy decision! How can you ever make decisions when they turn out to be such f***** disasters?' (She loves swearing, adores it in fact, the dirtier, scummier, meaner the swear words the better). My body cringes at her command, and I retreat into my cave, angry at the world. Sometimes she wants to see the light, and I emerge into the public to emit her scathing, judgemental views on my family and friends, and anyone who dares to get in the way.

She's ugly, the Bitch Olympian. That winner of bitter wars, that wrecker of marriages, destroyer of friendships and vandal of self-confidence. I hope she doesn't win any medals this time around, but at the moment, I'm not placing any bets.


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