I am angry.
I am tired.

One day, for surely there will be a day, when I finally give up on everything and leave. I will pack what little I need, I will take what little I have, and I will disappear. And, oh, how I long for that day to come. When I can finally walk away from everything and start over. Preferably in an extremely secluded spot in the world, where there are no people, or at the very least there are few people, and there is a very, very, very large space between what few people there are and me. Because I am utterly sick and tired of having people lash out at me for the way I behave when:
1. I do not hurt them.
2. I do not conform to their standards of pleasantries.
3. I don't bloody ask them to interact with me in the first place.

I don;t want their company. I don'w want their noise. I certainly don't want them. So, for god's sake, why the hell do they insist on bothering me and still expect me to live up to their standards?

My tone of voice and dull and dry and mean. Possibly because I happen to be dull and dry and fucking mean. It's me. Period.

I don't change my tone of voice for anyone. I don't change my mannerisms for anyone. I would probably be particularly careful of what I say if I so happen to be talking to the queen of England, but since I don't, that's hardly going to change. If I happen to talk the way I do and you're not happy with it, suck the fuck up. If I don't curse at you, make rude gestures or outright threaten you, fuck off about your expectations.

Because it has come to the point where I am feeling homicidal rage. A large amount of homicidal range. The type where the knife on the table looks tempting. Yes, that kind of actual homicidal rage.

I reiterate. I am angry.

Fullstop.

Oh, and if I did have any grammatical errors here, I don't care.