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February Focus: Day 10

God I love complaining. I’m so good at it, too. I’m such a personable soul who can articulate her thoughts so clearly and concisely, people have no choice but to hear me out. I command an audience as I stand on my soapbox, finger wagging passionately in the air as I decree what must be done in order to save the union. Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of ideas. If I could only assemble a team to implement them, then we’d all have a Merry Christmas.

All of this reaffirms my feelings of one day wanting to get into politics, where I can be a professional complainer and maybe enact some real change around here. But I have to be careful. I proved to myself today that even I, the best complainy-pants in the land, can take things way too far.

As you may know, I’ve been on a mission to find out what’s the deal with these myriad Covid testing tents littering Manhattan city streets. Even the Health Commissioner had no answer for me about how they’re being regulated, or when they’ll be disallowed from assembling. These are private companies which are oversaturating an unnecessary market, when the city itself already provides free tests to anyone who asks. So I’ve been on a mission since last year, but it’s now starting to bring out my more destructive tendencies.

I walked home today intent on kicking over any sign I saw outside any tent I came across. There were no signs, so I took to physically pulling down some parts of the tents, unvelcro-ing them, unzipping them, untying them. I did it to four of them, because that’s how many I passed on my short walk home. The final one I encountered, I was fiddling about when I pulled on a flap, unaware that it wasn’t actually tied to anything. So I came face-to-face with the guy sitting inside, who looked like I scared the absolute sh*t out of him. Well, I was already in it to win it, so I just started going on the attack, telling him I’m sick of seeing these things, asking when they’d be leaving, and why they were here in the first place. I should not have done that. He had no answers, only uncomfortable smiles. How could he offer me anything else? He was just a worker bee, collecting a paycheck that I myself would never cash. I can think my fight is noble all I want, but I did it the wrong way today. I feel like I’d be bordering on harassment if I do anything like that again. I felt my eyes go all psycho as I expressed my discontent and complained to someone who would not have the answers I sought. I will not do that again. Ever. To anyone.

I got home, feeling like an utter asshole, so high on the scent of my own emissions that I was willing to take it out on the wrong person. I ended up spending over an hour on the phone, calling various agencies, both citywide and state, looking for answers. Sadly, I came up empty-handed, but now have some more insider phone numbers I can call to get status updates. One woman told me they make these decisions weekly, so I said I keep calling back until they can provide answers on the final week the tents will be allowed.

I’m not going to ever dissuade people from ‘complaining’ about a problem that needs to be deservedly fixed. This one feels real to me, because it’s one of the final remnants of the pandemic which New York City needs to let go of. We only just got rid of mandatory masks in health care facilities, but there’s still places who will forcibly mask children, including special needs children, for no good reason other than “it’s policy.” If you want to see a taping of Colbert or The Daily Show, you must show proof of vaccination and wear a mask, because it’s apparently dangerous enough inside the studios, but not so dangerous that the host doesn’t have to do the same. There’s still fights to be had and be b*tched about, but it doesn’t give me the right to be a b*tch about it.

Maybe one day I will find a way to actually make a difference that can help everyone, instead of going on these personal crusades that bring out my inner c*nt. There’s a way to do things and interact with people. There’s lessons to be learned every single day. Mine just come with too smart a mouth sometimes. If you have a problem with that, I implore you, please, take it up with my manager. She’ll know just what to say, I hope.

Swears: $0.50.
Just one s-bomb and I can’t even remember the circumstance.

First Draft Word Count: same as the day before.
I need to get better at writing earlier. I wanted this entry out before I finished my thousand words. I will not go to sleep until they are done. You’ll see the reflected word count tomorrow.

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