It's too soon for revenge.

I've burnt a bridge yesterday already. Yelled at the head waitress who was the daughter of the owners of the restaurant that I worked at. I doubt that they will want me back. Me-> emotionally unstable, emotionally imature. She seemed like she was really stressed out and tired.

I am so angry right now, I feel like I need to take a bat and break things. I think I'm going to wear jogging shoes to work from now on and go running during lunch break.

I found the most beautiful place in Chinatown today. A small park hidden away. Within the park, you feel like you are ontop of a roof. That you are up in the sky with other sky scrapers. At the edge of the park, it feels like you can jump off and land onto another roof top. Or maybe fly into a cloud.

Chinatown is so magnificintly beautiful.. I love seeing the colorful clothing stringing along the rooftops. Urban domesticity brings color to the drab and sterile cityscape. I stepped outside of my building and took a good look at it from the park across the street. And I thought, 'Oh, is that what I am in every day?' So bland, and so plain. All the windows are square, and the tower loomed next to other ugly sky scrapers.

I don't know why I was so surprised to see the building. Maybe it's because when I'm inside the office, the office is inevitably an interior. The inside of something. And I am looking outward to these magnificintly framed views of San Francisco. The outside seems so dramatic, and exciting. The container that I am in, must be something grand to hold such sites.

From the large picture windows I watch the stormy clouds cascade over hills of buildings. I notice the swarms of pigeons that swim through the alley ways that the beat poets used to hang out in. The swarm move like a beast, breathing heavily. The city is wild and dirty and old.

At 5 o'clock, I was out again. This time, being part of the alleys in Chinatown. Walking like a ghost, feeling quite invisible like the tower that I am always in. Bawling, feeling so sorry for myself. Wishing that someone would just surprise me and cut my throat.

Instead of turning the knife inward, I have to turn it outward. And my weapon? My weapon is patience, my weapon is my feet that can run, my hands that can create things, and my heart that can feel. It's all a lesson... and it hurts.