To stew...to boil...to blow a gasket...to torque...to chap one's hide...to do a slow burn...
Anger is defined as an emotion related to one's psychological interpretation of having been offended, wronged or denied and a tendency to undo that by retaliation. Normal, natural, experienced by all cultures, race, socio-economic class, religious affiliation and beer preferences. It's a strong emotion...uncomfortable, evoking a visceral response to some perceived provocation. Even has physical manifestations such as elevated blood pressure, rapid heart rate, dilated pupils and increased blood flow to large muscle masses. Some psychologists view it as a negative emotional response while other see only the positive. Some even categorize it with words such as 'modalities,' 'locus,' 'impulsivity'...
blah blah effing blah
Anger is what I live with. And it's an unwelcome tenant that doesn't pay the rent, yet refuses to be evicted or foreclosed upon. I'm angry. I've discovered that...thought about it...analyzed it...tried to chase it away with some sort of self fulfilling balm...but here it still sits. As a mature adult, educated beyond reasonable expectation, I should be able to trace my anger back to its instigation. Be able to focus the vilification upon the true culprit of my ire. Yes? Yes. And I have. And my enemy is me.
Would you like to know what makes me angry today?
The grocery store.
The grocery store makes me angry. The massive collection of organized foodstuffs that only offers me sustenance and culinary yumminess. I see you, produce. I see you in all your colorful, vitamin filled healthiness. And I loathe you. You remind me of my lack of time and organizational abilities...and my woeful cooking skills. I cannot turn you into gorgeous dishes that my children rave about as we sit at the table with our matching polos and coordinated dinner dishes. No. You mock me...and I refuse to look at you while I hunt down your Appalachian cousins in the frozen food aisle. Don't look at me. I can't make time for you...because I don't. I could.
Skinny people.
Skinny people make me angry. Their smooth muscles and well fitting clothes, and that spring to their step that advertises a self control that I lack. I am reminded of days when my pants were loose and my boobs didn't spill out of my bra...and I had an abdomen less reminiscent of Jabba the Hutt's butt. I could look that good again. I could regiment my eating and exercise and whittle away at the layer of chubbiness that has made itself so much at home...but I don't. I could make excuses for why I don't...too tired, too poor, too little time. But it's all lies. I no longer look the way I did because I'm lazy. I don't want to do it. So I don't.
My email.
My email makes me angry. My beautiful inbox full of goodies and stories and simple 'hellos' from people that care about me and that make me smile everyday with their willingness to call me a friend. And I furrow my brow and sigh. Because I know I am rarely capable of returning that level of friendship adequately. I don't keep up with correspondence...I don't take enough time to compose a kind response to someone who really needs that time from me. I don't have the right words. And I get angry. I feel selfish. Because I want to be the kind of person who can do those things. And I'm not.
My textbook.
My textbook makes me angry. Reams of education, graphic pictures and articles that make me excited to start something new. I get to learn. I get to study...I get to educate myself, and I know I'm an expert at that. But I'm also an expert at procrastination and self sabotage. I know what I want...what I dream of and desire. I want to be more than I am now, but what happens if I actually succeed? What if I do land that dream job and have a chance at being amazing? Where I can go to work and walk the hallowed halls of somewhere and hear the awed whispers of 'she's here...she's here'? The drama, the arguments, the 8000 things I will have to plan-mend-hide-organize-fight in order to move my life from here to there...from now to then. What's worse? Staying here...or going there? And I can't decide...and I can't commit. I can't. I irritate myself.
The ancient philosopher, Seneca, believed that the best reaction to anger was to keep calm. To weather the anger with a clear mind and inquisitive soul. He said a certain kind of deception was needed to deal with anger. I think I've mastered that bit, actually. I don't look angry. I don't act angry. But the 'clear mind' thing is pure crap.
Angry.
I get this. All the time I get this. I get upset at my kids because they don't clean up, but I don't either. I get angry because I've got a paper due, but I didn't bother to look at the day it was due. It's my own fault for sure.
ReplyDeleteI found your blog and now I'm going to follow you here and on twitter!! I hear you about the friend thing--I'm terrible about keeping up with people. I have a friend who is amazing at it--like remembers anniversaries and kids' birthdays and when you first got hammered together and she makes me feel sooooooo bad.
ReplyDeleteAlthough I don't normally dig Adam Sandler movies, Anger Management was pretty funny when it talked about the angry people who blow up and scream at you, and then the clerk types--that take all the screaming and then one day just explode and do something crazy. So maybe Seneca was a clerk?
Kathi-Ann -- Not only is it hard to accept that I'm the only one at fault, but it's doubly hard to get motivated to make the changes I need to make. Thank you for commenting!!
ReplyDeleteJulie -- I'm honored to be followed!! I, too, have a couple of friends who are on the ball with correspondence. Grrr. I need to see Anger Management (don't like Sandler either), and would agree that Seneca likely experienced the service industry at one time! LOL.