Okay, so I am breaking my silence and partially breaking my self-imposed rule, “Don’t Write Angry.”
I am angry. I am so angry that I feel electrified by it, as though thousands of little angry lightning bolts are exploding from my every pore, keeping me going long past my normal hours, keeping me buzzing even though I’m recovering from the most horrific bout of strep throat I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.
Did I mention I’m a bit perturbed?
Yeah, so what do I do when I’m this angry? Well, dishes get done. This is the land of clean dishes, let me tell you. The only dirty dish in the house is the mug from which I’m currently sipping piping hot mint tea.
I also drive. Hehehe. I drive angry. I drive angry with a purpose. Tonight’s purpose was to exchange a Barbie video for something… angry. I chose Red. Not much of a purpose, but it got me out of the house. OUT. That was all that mattered.
And I talk. I have three best therapists in the world, some great friends who tell me – in their sleep-deprived slurring speech – “No, it’s not too late. Sure we can talk. That’s what friends are for.” And they even mean it.
Tonight I spent 90 minutes on the phone talking it out.
Is it gone? No. Is it manageable? Yeah, I think so. If not, I might have to break into someone else’s house and find some dirty dishes.