Fastidious Frustration at Bitching Bullies

There was a girl that my artist went to school with. The stereotypical bully. Plump and a head taller than the rest of the kids with hair dyed the colour of coal and a dog collar adorning her pudgy neck. Sarah. Plain Sarah really, and not too active in the thoughts department. Sarah’s imaginaiad looked like a lost Sid Vicious groupie and once, when I encountered her after her ill tempered ‘artist’ slammed mine into a locker, she gave me the finger and mouthed “Bite me” before rushing into her host to inspire her to flee from an approaching teacher.

It’s my nature to observe and not to judge, but sometimes it is impossible not to see glaringly obvious conclusions. At the age of 9, Sarah was the first bitch I ever encountered.

The most terrible thing about a bitch who is also painfully stupid is that even if you try as hard as you possibly can to reason with them, they will never see your point of view. You will never have the satisfaction of getting your concept across. They will rebuff your logic with the logic of children and will always be able to counter you even if their counter is nonsense.


There have been a lot of bitches since then. Some just a silly and stubborn as Sarah. RSD is the biggest bitch my artist has been forced to deal with so far. Just like Sarah it attacks when seemingly unprovoked, it does not listen and rebels against efforts to control it, it pains for no reason and will hang around spitefully cursing my artist long after measures have been taken to calm it down. It laughs at my artist as she struggles to go about her business and rears its flaming head whenever it can cause the most disruption. It tests my artist, just to see how far it can go before she snaps and collapses in tears. It mocks her with it’s rejection of sense and embraces its nonsensical pattern of pain to the gain of no-one.


The beginning of this year has not been filled with the usual promise of all things new and exciting. It has so far brought pain and boredom that permeate my artist’s mental well being and build blocks that slow my colours. RSD seeps a cloudy purple from my artist’s ankle and so far it has been resistant to my attempts to soothe and right its rainbow.

We must push on.

Things might be wonky but Orange still glows on the horizon at sunset and with her shines the promise of better days to come.

Journal Comments

  • Roger Sampson
  • Rachael  Hope
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