Roaring Laughter

Roaring Laughter

There is this thing about me – I love to laugh. I laugh all the time. I had a boss who disliked me because I was so cheerful. That being said, when I’m in a bad mood, there is this special kind of hate I’m channeling my anger thru. It’s a bit of a joke, and always in a way it can’t hurt anybody. It’s directed to some famous person who doesn’t give a damn or toward some kind of food I’m especially angry of that day or some place that did me no harm.
In this kind of mood, I’m sitting with my boyfriend, bitching  and he is googling this children author from my country, Rasa Popov. A grandpa to all of us, with his lovely gray beard and lovable eyes, there is no one in my country that does not love him. I’m looking at the screen, at his name, and say: “I hate Rasa Popov.” And my boyfriend is like: “Really? You hate Rasa Popov?”. “I hate Rasa Popov. With his cute little bird and everybody loving him because his so cute. I hate him.” My boyfriend is looking at me, with a smile at the corner of his lips and continues: “Hey, what about “The Master and Margarita”? What do you think about that book?” My boyfriend, of course, he knows this is my favorite book and I could never say I hate it. I feel traped down to absurd and can’t keep my act together. So as I’m trying to remain angry, knowing it’s doomed, all I can say is: “You are so mean to me.” before I start laughing my lungs out and there is just a broken shell of my anger left in this world.