2003-10-06 @ 7:33 p.m.
|Ok granted, I'm grumpy because I'm only breathing at 50% capacity and my throat feels like a wool sock is jammed down it, but is rudeness really necessary?
Today for instance, I had to get out of my bed to go do some errands. I had just pulled into a parking space at the bank and was just getting ready to swing open my door when this huge SUV swung so sharply into the space next to me, it nearly tore my car door off.
I had to slam my door shut to escape decapitation and I admit, I breathed "yuppie scum" under my breathe. But my car is so small there is no way, the high and mighty could have seen my lips moving. So I got out, once the coast was clear and walked up to the bank. Who's there but the high and mighty. A buff, polished, cell phone slinging mega-woman. Highlighted hair, deep tan and she was holding the door for me. Wow. Maybe she felt guilty about the near decapitation. So I walked in ahead of her and said thanks. And suddenly I hear this bellowing:
I was like WTF. I was thinking I said "thank you", bitch. Its true I have a bad cold and perhaps didn't project my voice out past the strip mall a 1000 yards away. But I knew if I looked at her, I would have to beat her to a bloody pulp, so I just stepped AHEAD of her to the first teller available. Heh, heh.
Next thing I know I'm in my car again driving. Some high school kids are crossing a main street against the light. Traffic is flying through the intersection. They are walking with total disregard for the green light. So I drive through. I had the green light. Suddenly fingers are shooting up. Much screaming of the fuck word. Of course if somebody had gotten hit, no mention would have been made of their flagrant disregard of traffic lights. Only the tragic circumstances of a life cut short. Yeah, it would have been tragic all right.
My insurance would have gone up.
You do know I'm kidding, right? Ok, just asking.
Well, this was a red letter day for my shrink. He was named shrink of the year. Tee hee. There's going to be no living with him now. I just sent him a congratulatory note. I was very well behaved. Especially since its a situation so ripe for...for...ummm...
I have certainly been a paragon of virtue today though. Must be because I'm sick.
Whoa, Married Guy just sent me an e-mail. Second in one day. Distressed about my illness. Oh my. Also said he saw my shrink's picture in the paper this morning for "Shrink of the month". Ahem. I think, that's of the year. This isn't a Baskin Robbins flavor, ya know. Did I just feel a little prick?
Oh, that reminds me. Went to my group today. The place where I can do things I don't normally do at home, regarding my anger. They have this plastic baseball bat and a large stack of pillows and you can beat on them at your heart's content. You can either just beat on them silently...or beat on them and say one or all seven words you can't say on television (although I don't know if that is even true anymore...words you can't say on television)...or you can just beat on them and make guttural noises like you're giving birth to a bowling ball with porcupine quills.
I'm one of the few women in the group who uses this method. Most just sit, turn inwards and talk about how much life sucks. I like to take the bat and smack the hell out of the pillows. And write in my Diaryland diary, of course! But beating on something is really cathartic.
But what I did today, was really interesting. Usually its just the pillows, but today I was doing a Noel Coward monologue about being angry. Being a witty kitty. Making people laugh. Being very controlled, and then I mentioned I was angry at a guy with glasses and ____ (a distinguishing physical attribute) and someone in the group drew a picture of him (whoops, did I give it away, who IT was?) And I put the drawing on the pillow and started to beat the hell out of it.
WHOA! Talk about cathartic! One time I hit it so hard the piece of paper stuck to the bat and flew behind me. And then it got static cling and started sticking to the bat, which actually started to make me laugh. Can't beat something when its clinging to the thing you're beating it with, right?
But after a while I felt a little guilty. The picture was kind of cute. It looked like a picture some kid might draw of his Dad and here I was taking out 45 years of anger on a piece of paper. He's only been a part of it for 4 years.
So the moral of the story? Well, there really isn't any, except, if you have alot of anger inside...let it out, before you mow down a bunch of teenagers in a crosswalk. That way your insurance won't go up and you won't have to pay that freakin' deductible.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty