May 3, 1999.

I had an episode yesterday. A rather regrettable one, truth be told.

After the bridal shower (which oscillated between fun & interminable), my brother picked me up in the van, and we went over to the Boy's house to help him move. No furniture - just books, CDs, clothes, recording equipment, that sort of stuff. We figured that we could carry it up in quick trips like army ants. Seven people; 2 cars of stuff. Piece of cake, right?

It almost worked. We had everything in the back hallway. The cars were out of the alley, and we had about one more round of fetching to clear everything away. The concierge had been making noises about how we weren't supposed to be moving in on Sunday, and that we were supposed to rent the elevator, blah blah blah. But who has $50 to throw away on a 30 minute elevator rental?

It was at this point that the trouble started. A civilian started giving us shit about the elevator, about paying over a $250 moving deposit, about the character of the building & the hassles from other tenants. Q pointed out that none of this was in the lease. The Boy asked his name, as he was putting on some official airs (although officious is a more appropriate term). He was "on the condominium council." In other words, some fucking blowhard with an inferiority complex and too much time on his fucking hands. A choice comment: "now, we'll waive the $200 as you obviously need to get your stuff in." As if he was conferring a huge favour. As if we should thank him. My brother commented later, "I've never heard anybody talk so long about absolutely nothing."

At this point, we should pull back & set the scene a bit. This was my third move in four days. I just moved out of an apartment that I really loved, relocating to my parents' home. I had been hacked only two days ago. On Friday night, I learned something about Morgan that I will not discuss, but which left me with a great deal of protective anger and frustration...neither of which I could express. I had been out late & up early every morning. I had been acting nice and girlie and sweet all afternoon at the shower. And I had just had a dizzy spell in the hallway.

I started talking back. I started pointing out the idiocy of the situation. The Blowhard got mad, the Boy asked me to be quiet (advice that I ignored), the Blowhard & myself were just about to start yelling...and I went up in the elevator before I really lost it. I decided to stay up in the apartment, as my temper was still at the boiling point, and I felt myself on the point of a physical scrap. I honestly felt that if he offered any more resistance, I was going to rip his head off.

A few minutes later, I realized what I had done; realized how out of character it was. I have a temper, of course, but it only gets really expressed in private: with family or the Boy or when I'm by myself. I have never yelled at a stranger. Especially not one with real (if indirect) authority. What makes it worse is that I was completely fucking out of line. It is not my apartment. It is Pixie Stix and Q and the Boy's apartment. They have to live there, and deal with their neighbors and peacefully coexist with the authority structure. My feelings weren't so inappropriate, but the expression of the anger was off the fucking scale of inappropriate.

It kind of felt good when the concierge refunded our fifty dollars, as he felt that we had been jerked around. But not good enough. I apologized to the three tenants elaborately, sincerely and individually. But it still doesn't feel like enough.