I’m usually the guy who everyone takes as laid-back, never serious, and generally relaxed. I like that image. I cultivate it. That way, when I snap and go off on a rant about insignificant little issue, it’s that much funnier. Hey, look, the laid-back guy’s screaming about how quickly his grass grows! Teehee.

The fact is: I’m usually too lazy to get worked up over anything. Oh, my mind’s always going. People who really know me know think I’m a pessimist (But they’re wrong. I’m a realist. Reality just sucks.). There’s a reason I rant and scream about insignificant stuff; if I went off about everything that bothered me, I’d be hoarse for starters, and I’d earn the reputation of a whiner. The little stuff at least gets a laugh.

“Ok, Jason,” you’re mumbling, “Get to the point.” My point is this: at some point, almost everyone takes advantage of the fact that I’m so laid back. They step on my toes and I take it. I sit there and absorb the problem and repress it deep down inside where it’ll someday grow into a nice healthy tumor to be cut out, gold-plated, and worn as bling around my neck.

But every once in a while, someone takes my kindly nature for granted a bit too much. Suddenly Jason is no longer in control. I have, inside of me, a little angry personality quirk.  His persistent attempts to come out and play are marked by a twitching in my eye. This is why my coworkers named him Twitchy. But that’s a bit of a misnomer. As long as I’m just twitching, I’m just annoyed. On rare occasions, though, my hands begin to shake; my whole body begins trembling; both eyes begin twitching in random and erratic intervals and a muscle in my upper lip begins to spasm, causing my mustache to jump. At this point, Twitchy takes over.

Twitchy has the balls that I don’t. Twitchy will announce that he knows people who know people who can make people disappear, kapish? Twitchy will tell a customer at work to get the hell out before he “escorts” them out. Twitchy, in short, is a bit of a badass. Twitchy is 29 years of accepting things quietly and repressing them as to not seem like an asshole; 29 years of sparing peoples’ feelings by keeping my mouth shut, breathing deep, and trying to put it behind me. Twitchy is my relief valve to keep from having a stroke tomorrow.

They say “Beware the fury of a patient man.” Well, I say, “Beware the fury of a man with a long fuse, involuntary muscle spasms, and multiple personalities.” Hell, po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Just pass me the Paxil and a muscle relaxer if you have one.