CityGirl

OMG, I’m so fascinated by the political happenings in the United States right now.  Barrack Obama! Wow! It’s a groundswell!  

In 2006 while Jamaica was on the cusp of creating history, I maintained in discussions that for me the issue is definitely bigger than a woman being Prime Minister of Jamaica for the first time.  I wanted the best person to win so therefore I wouldn’t give her my vote simply because I was also a female.

I’m not a citizen of the United States of course, but I do think the sentiment should remain the same.  The issue should definitely be more than whether a black man or a woman will be in the White House.  But who can help being fascinated by the possibilities?

I was in quite a murderous mood today.  I was quite livid about what I thought was downright spiteful behaviour against me.  I was so mad that I harboured thoughts of hiring a hitman to take out the offender.   I then emailed my friend, giving vent to my anger and telling her about all the dastardly things I’d love to do to him, including and not limited to dropping a bomb on his house when he and his family was out.  (At the point of thinking of dropping the bomb, I had decided I’d get more satisfaction if he was around to see the destruction).

After I calmed down, and was able to think in a more sane manner, it occurred to me that that was how some murders happened.  Not just here in Jamaica but elsewhere too.  Not everyone had the emotional maturity to allow the thoughts to remain as just thoughts. 

I must admit that harbouring murderous thoughts about people who did me grievous wrongs is nothing new to me.  I do recall plotting to kill a particularly mean cousin when I was a pre-teen.  I’d spend quite a bit of time not only plotting his murder but thinking of how I could get away with it.   

Of course there might be an argument against harbouring such thoughts in the first place.  I’m trying to decide even as I write whether I actually derive any satisfaction from plotting these imaginary murders against people who have wronged me.  It’s not exactly cathartic because I actually get even more worked up thinking about the horrors that I’d like to mete out on these offenders.