Self-Indulgent Fantasy

(Content note: violent situations, Republicans)

Anxiety likes to force me through worst case scenarios. These often end in the death of a loved one, my death (gruesome, or painful, or humiliatingly banal), or worse, ending up a middle aged person working at walmart with death in their eyes.*

This morning I questioned that. Why don’t I ever indulge in the best case scenario to balance that out? All these years I think I’ve been harboring the belief that imagining good things happening to me would be some sort of vice, indicative of selfishness and greed on my part.

So, my brain wants to force me through a worst case scenario in which I visit a queer nightclub for the first time and it just so happens that’s the night a would-be mass shooter shows up. This scenario ends with me dead or traumatized and maimed for life.

Okay, so I’m gonna balance that out with this fun best case scenario result if a mass shooter showed up: I’m pretty sure I’m a hold-my-beer sort of drunk, which is why I generally avoid getting drunk in the first place. But I’d be drinking. So maybe I’d just grab a chair and try charging said shooter, catch him by surprise and knock him out.

I’d then proceed to beat him to death with the chair, because the fucker had it coming.

I’d end up a national hero, eventually getting invited to speak in front of Congress, where I’d smuggle in a bag of poop and throw it at Mitch McConnell before flipping all the goddamn Republicans a double bird.

And out of this entire scenario, the most unlikely part is successfully throwing a bag of poop at Mitch McConnell, because I can’t throw straight! I’d probably hit the person sitting next to him, instead.

This whole thought exercise is ridiculous, of course, but you know what? It put a huge smile on my face.

*There is nothing wrong with being middle-aged. Walmart sucks, though, and it sucks that people are forced to work for such a shitty company because they need to be able to pay their bills.

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