Wrangler Dani

I don’t write very often about being angry, mostly because anger, unless you can make it somehow funny or self-deprecating. is not a very fun subject to record for Time Immemorial on the Internetz. Every time I get really hopping mad I feel very very justified about it, but if I ever put said justified anger down on paper, it looks and feels childish and silly and sad the next day. I tell you this because I want you to respect the fact that I very rarely subject you to horrible posts like today’s, and also, to let you know that I’m very aware that writing this was a bad idea.

So about being mad. I think I’m mad because I’m tired, or something. I feel crazy, like all of life is piling up into a Giant Stack of Stuff To-Do and it all costs money or time or brainpower that I don’t have. I’m angry at dumb stuff that I can’t control, that nobody can control, stuff like Car Breakdowns and Doctor Appointments and Mean Pharmacists.  I’m feeling kindof empty, like I’ve been drained of all the good sparkly pink feelings and if one more person looks at me funny at the gas station I might just holler at him because black goopy hollerings is all that’s left in my sad, angry, narcissistic soul.  Which is kindof funny in a very sad way, and makes me want to lock myself in my room with ice cream and a good book until I can be nice to people again.

Which brings me to my point, and why I wrote this despite knowing that it was probably a very bad idea – the point is that I don’t reveal my ugly sides if I can help it and I lock them up and sit on them and sing “LA LA LA” very loudly in order to pretend like I don’t hear their grumblings. But somehow, despite my tight Don’t-Let-The-Crazy-Out Security, they occasionally get loose in tearful rampages and incoherent anger about Stuff Nobody Can Control every now and then.  So I’ve decided that I’m better off to acknowledge that I am angry sometimes at the injustices of Life. I can admit that. Admitting is the first step, right? So I’ll admit it, then I’ll get off the ground, pat myself on the head and thank my husband for his unfailing hugs. I will drink a glass of wine and go to bed at a decent hour and thank the Lord for everything I do have… and maybe by tomorrow I’ll feel more normal, without having to lock up my unflattering feelings or be eaten alive by their unhappy ways.

Tomorrow I also might regret this post very much. I’ll get back to you on that.