My natural response to things is anger.
I’m a cranky person and it’s very possible that like Nick
Miller, I’m aging into my personality. This old soul of mine has its downsides
and a big one is not leaving room for other
people’s choices. Even the good ones.
The best ones.
For them.
I like knowing what’s coming. Being able to picture and
plan. Super type A? Guilty.
But as I’ve grown I’ve seen the damaging of pictures and
plans. The ones that don’t ever make it out of my head to reality. I’m creative
enough to see beautiful things.
Fictions.
Learning that most will stay far from reality while not letting
the flames consume me has been a challenge. I’m not saying I’ve done it. That
I’ve made it and here’s my story of success. But that I’m discovering. That I’m
starting to recognize the signs of anger rising, burning inside my head and
heart – gulp, yep, I’ve got one.
What’s kept this battle raging is that it’s hidden.
I don’t usually – sorry Mom – blow up at people. I can hold
it in or use calm words to express my distaste.
My mind is less controlled.
No. that isn’t right either. It’s got a focused grasp on
fury. On blaming whoever has stepped in the way of my plans or those of someone
I love. So there I sit on my scorching throne pounding my scepter at a world
that just refuses to listen.
Can you hear it?
A hollow pound thump, a slow simmering.
The sound of a woman fading into loathing.
I realized this today. As I sat in my office staring at the
rain dropping to the pavement frustrated with my life. Mine. Not another’s
choices. Mine.
It isn’t that I’m unhappy. I am.
Quite.
But this isn’t how, or where, I pictured life.
But if I’m happy, why bother being frustrated? Because it’s not what I planned. Letting
go of my plans and accepting a different set – one I know will be better in the
long run if not right now – is the hardest trial of my young life. One that
will continue until I’m perfectly dead.
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