Spanish candy?

I came home last week at 3am and promptly threw a stuffed reindeer Hercules had won me at a street fair out the window. The 3rd floor back window to be precise. I wanted no witness to the crime, nor did I want to have to walk past it in the morning. Upon reflection, that's when I made my decision. And threw any love for him out as well. What a waste of affection. I can't stand loitering on the sideline. I'd given him opportunities to have the 'this is not going to work' conversation - but he never said anything. And now cowardice in total silence. I can't abide that. Get in or get out. Cause someone injuries or stay off the field.
 
Perhaps that means I'm angry, but as far as I'm concerned it means currently I'm enjoying being a self-important, pretentious little shit. And you know what I say to that? 'So what.' Denial and my Zen calm are my survival techniques and I'm feeling so arrogantly contempt I don't care.
 
I want to sit down instead of the old lady on the tube, cut people off in traffic, leave my sticky lunch wrapper on the table, let important calls go to voice mail, steal someone's lunch money, give the bus driver the finger, press all the buttons in the elevator, drop my gum, ignore people on the footpath and push someone in the coffee line. I feel like an irrationally irritated 5 year old. And frankly, there is nothing better for a bad mood than scooping it up and sprinkling it over everything and everyone you come across, spreading it around a bit. Just like salt. 'Stand still while I rub salt in your eyes - it will make me feel better.'
 
But if I'm very honest with myself, it's not for everyone, and not everyone can be lucky enough to deserve my wrath. In frankness currently it's reserved for one person. And given the chance, I would use his heart as my personal piñata. Hell, I turned 25 didn't I - and 2+5 is only 7 - so how mature do I really have to be about this? I want a piñata. Now. I want a baseball bat and I don't want to have to admit to feelings of rejection.
 
The myth of Hercules might detail a man of strength and violence but if push comes to shove he's not winning this round. No way. Not in my bulletproof state and his of cowardice. Give me a piñata and a pina colada and maybe I'll go back to letting old people sit down on transport. Maybe.