Well, baby, I'm an island.

I'm the closest thing to it.

I'm a rock.

And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.

Shielded in my armor. I've got my poetry to protect me.

I touch no one and no one touches me!

I think it's time maybe that I count the average number of times in a day each day that I loudly and angrily say to myself, “get outta here!”

I drive to work on Monday, and a guy who should yield pulls his car out in front of me.

Get outta here!

I pull into a parking lot and at the only parking space left, someone is standing there, talking to someone else.

Get outta here!

My neighbor, I derisively nicknamed him “Dutch boy”

He's an immigrant from Finland who talks with an accent. All he does is walk his dog in front of my yard which sets my dog off barking. Dutch boy is retired, worthless, so all he does is walk his dog, but only in front of my yard.

Get outta here!

My other neighbor, I nicknamed “Gumdrop” (I have nicknames for all my neighbors) was told by his doctor to walk each day. He wears a little elf-like jogging suit with a beanie on his head and walks, back and forth…..in front of my yard.

Get outta here!

Another neighbor, Justin the yuppie, is always on his cell phone, and once complained about the noise of my dog barking, but makes plenty of noise himself, always yelling at his kid, “Anthony!”

His fertile wife (they have eight kids) is twice as tall as he is.

She puts red traffic cones in the street so her kids can play there (they don‘t have a backyard)……as if that makes it legal to block traffic.

When I try to pull up into my driveway, she yells, “Anthony! Watch out for the car!”

Get outta here!

I drive to the track to do some jogging so I can relieve some of the strain my doctor told me I was placing on my liver by alcohol consumption. There's a lady walking across the road.

Get outta here!

I'm jogging around the track and a guy on a bicycle he just got for Christmas is riding around the track in the opposite direction with a slightly grown puppy dog running alongside. Every time I run by, the dog, wanting to play, jumps between my legs, nearly tripping me. The first time I ignored it. But it happens the second, and the third time we pass each other.

The guy on the bike does nothing to stop the dog except to chuckle and say, “Hector, stop that.”

Get outta here!

This time I yell.

I'm standing in a supermarket line trying to buy a simple pack of gum and the old lady (I instantly nicknamed her Gravel Gertie) is filling out a check for her purchase, taking so much time she could be writing War and Peace.

I angrily mumble.

Get outta here!

On the drive home, a car ahead is moving too slowly, like the guy is looking at individual houses.

Get outta here!

Exiting the car, I suddenly feel a mysterious chest pain. I panic. Nobody is around. What is this pain?

Maybe I should call for help.

Maybe I'm not an island.