Every now and then

something happens to just rip you open. I'm not talking about when you're sitting at work opening transcripts from other universities and you absentmindedly stop paying attention to how you're holding the letter opener and before you know it the envelopes are covered in your blood. I'm also not talking about those occasions when your roommate thinks it will be funny to try headbutting you and busts your forehead open.

I'm talking about when you're sitting at your desk, peacefully dancing in your chair to Mariah Carey's latest hits, doing some homework, feeling great because if you keep your rates of productivity up you can probably sleep tonight, and out of nowhere, it's like a gang of samurai warriors rush into the room and attack you with machetes until your heart has been fileted and wrapped in seaweed, served on a bed of fluffy white rice, with ample quantities of wasabi on hand to be used in the wounds.

There is that one thought or statement or idea that just cuts to the core of you like you're on Jerry Springer finding out that your brother has been cheating on you with the transvestite next door, who happens to be your baby's daddy's brother, who has also lovingly passed herpes to you via your baby's daddy and your brother. Yeah. It's that kind of hurt. That kind of betrayal. That kind of, "Holy shit, are people really this fucked up?" moment.

Yes. Yes, they are.

Sushi, anyone?