whistling in public

written much earlier | just cleaning out the drafts drawer

I had just found out that Carl Kassel passed away as I was slogging my way to the grocery store -- mid April in Michigan -- and I was experiencing a sentimental moment when I enter D & W and zigzag my way over to the produce section. I know that whistling is considered an indication of contentedness, happiness, being light, but, I have to hesitate here -- wanting to say something more passable, like I'm being a cad or a bitter pill, etc., but the only emotion I feel with whistling is rage and therefore I would be completely lying if I didn't admit to the thoughts in my head being nothing less than full on bitchy. When I turn to see the perpetrator of this attack, its an older gentleman that I should be feeling warmly toward considering my whole sadness about CK. So I try to twist my thoughts, bend them into less jagged spears and make them into twisty little harmless silly straws. But I can't. Whistling, not to be overdramatic or extreme, but for me is a full on assault on my senses. If there is any place inside of me that is peaceful (which I highly doubt because despite giving off the laid back impression of surfer-- which I'm pretty sure I don't but desperately want to, I am a wreck. My neck is in a constant knot and I can never just sit and chill -- even in the presence of people who make me feel absolutely okay to do so. I don't want to be this way -- I'd rather be the old guy at the store who can walk around whistling.