Oh Gawd, SHUT UP

Just when it can't get worse, it does.

Today was an exercise in restraint for me, and I have to tell you, I got more exercise than I need. My morning went relatively well; the Session Leaders were interesting, and I was taking away information that I can use in my life when I'm done with the Rubber Room Regency, Outpatient Floor.

But you know, whenever things are going in a positive direction, I should really know that the crap's going to hit the fan in a most Picasso-esque manner. 

Every few days, the dynamics of our crew change as people leave and join the group. There's a clique who've firmly entrenched themselves in the corner of the room, and Oh Em Gee, these people think they're just that much better, and just that much funnier than everyone else in the room. At my age, I really didn't think I'd have to watch people talk behind their hands during class, eat potato chips loudly enough to disrupt the speaker, drink coffee, pop their gum, wander in and out at will, and as I've mentioned before, question the Session Leader about his or her personal life. 

Today, we were graced with a new member of the group: a lovely gentleman who has apparently been with the program before, but if you ask me, didn't learn anything, least of all any manners. He CERTAINLY didn't learn anything about inside and outside voices. The Corner Clique was thrilled beyond belief to see him, and the conversation began outside of the room, continued on while they settled in their chairs, and didn't stop, despite the class starting. The most frustrating part of this for me is that our Class Leader today hasn't got the fuzzy dice between her legs to tell this group to shut the hell up. Their new groupie was particularly vocal, offering his opinion on every statement made by every other participant in the room. And he did it LOUDLY. AND MOST OF THE TIME IT DIDN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. AND IF IT DID MAKE SENSE, IT WAS OFF-TOPIC. 

Yes, I'm yelling. Why? Because that's how it felt the entire time that turd was in the room: like he was yelling (he was). I was not the only one who felt that way. I finally hit a point where I decided that if there was one more outburst, I was going to leave the room. With five minutes left in the session, he asked how much time was left. "Five minutes." Apparently this was far too long for him to wait to get a drink: he got up, left the room, and came back a minute later with some kind of orange beverage. Thank GAWD no one made him sit that extra few minutes 'til the clock reached 2pm ~ could have been fatal.

This is precisely the type of person who triggers my rage in a way that frightens me. Rage that makes me want to verbally assault him. I can do it: I have the skillz. It makes me want to grab one of the many walkers in the room (and they're lined up like it's Senior's Day at the Bowl-a-rama) and just smack him square in the mouth, over and over. And once he's down on the ground, writhing and bleeding, my foot will just naturally find it's way to his chest and I'll grind my size 8.5 stiletto into his rather plump breast until he blubbers like the dickwad he is ...

Am I going too far? Is it still wrong if it makes me feel just that much better?