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help, please (subtitled: the truth about anger)
my copy employer has lost her tech. i'm not totally sure what the job entails, but if anyone has website tech savvy and is looking for a little extra ching, please email me or leave a comment and i'll hook you up. she's a very nice woman and pays promptly.
(without her tech, she doesn't need me. capice?)
****
i didn't intend to take the entire day off, and i won't be able to make it downstairs due to unforeseen technical difficulties. said difficulties seem to be an ongoing thing, but i think we'll fix that, what do you think?
****
i have a hard time with anger. it takes a lot to anger me, although sometimes not a lot to piss me off. (i consider being pissed off more of an "irritating" type of emotion, say, like a rash on your thighs.) when i've gotten to the anger stage, you know it's a Mighty Big Thing.
then, once i get angry, i don't know what to do with it. the first instinct is to get out the razor-sharp tongue and start slicing. this is the Dark Side to being a word-wrangler; the jugular is not a hard target. neither are the softer parts of the heart, not if you know what to do with words. not if you have the killer instinct to go with it. and you can do it all with simple honesty.
sometimes, i think it is unfortunate that i do not have the killer instinct. i have the razor tongue, i have the wordcraft, i know exactly where the jugular and soft spots are. i just can't do it.
for one thing, i know what it feels like to be on the receiving end (oh, let me count the ways) and for another, i know working with words is a gift. words carry great power -- the greatest of all. it's how we measure, how we determine our place in the world, it's how we define ourselves. it shapes relationships with others, maybe even others we will never know. our words are what we have that make us....well, us. what we say, how we say it, how we mean it....especially in the techno-wired world today.
with such power comes great responsibility. (i'm sure Spiderman's uncle was not the first person to say this.) i am responsible for what i say and how i say it and to some extent, how it affects others. this is serious shiz, friends and neighbors.
****
back to anger.
so i keep the muzzle on and the leash tight. oh, there might be some wimpering you can hear, but that's nothing. nothing at all. and it fades.
the trick, i've found, is to not say anything right now. wait. wait. as hard as it is, wait.
then wait some more.
yes, i know it's difficult. yes, i know i want to go kick a puppy or something (well, i would never kick a puppy but you get the point,) but WAIT. oooohhhh, waitwaitwait because once you say those words, you can never, ever take them back.
bruises will fade, but the scars will stay blinding white.
****
trust me, i know whereof i speak.
****
and then, i write. i writewritewrite it all out. sometimes i do it longhand, then burn the pages. sometimes i'm gripping the pen so tight my knuckles are white and i'm crying so hard i can't see what i'm writing. sometimes all i can see are blurred lines through the veil of tears and snot. (hey, it's dirty in the trenches.) sometimes i write an email but never send it, pounding the keys so hard the popping sound fills my ears. sometimes, if it's something really major, and i'm more angry with myself than anyone else, i'll find ways to punish myself. (ah, but i'm on to me now! i've learned! yay me!)
i write it all out until the heat fades. it seems best.
then i tuck it away. maybe someday to forgive, but to never forget.
never.
****
there will always be a burn mark, or a brand, purpled and twisted, but that's okay. it reminds me of circumstance and situation, and hopefully i can avoid it in the future. it reminds me *I* am the one in control. *I* am the one that chose *NOT* to give in to the Dark Side, and that makes me one bad-ass motherfucker. Luke Skywalker has got NOTHING on me.
i am one awesome bitch. oh, yes i am, and it feels great to say it.
****
i'm still very angry. but i feel better now. and i will feel better tomorrow. pretty soon, i'll feel so goddamned good i won't be able to stand myself.
heh.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
(without her tech, she doesn't need me. capice?)
****
i didn't intend to take the entire day off, and i won't be able to make it downstairs due to unforeseen technical difficulties. said difficulties seem to be an ongoing thing, but i think we'll fix that, what do you think?
****
i have a hard time with anger. it takes a lot to anger me, although sometimes not a lot to piss me off. (i consider being pissed off more of an "irritating" type of emotion, say, like a rash on your thighs.) when i've gotten to the anger stage, you know it's a Mighty Big Thing.
then, once i get angry, i don't know what to do with it. the first instinct is to get out the razor-sharp tongue and start slicing. this is the Dark Side to being a word-wrangler; the jugular is not a hard target. neither are the softer parts of the heart, not if you know what to do with words. not if you have the killer instinct to go with it. and you can do it all with simple honesty.
sometimes, i think it is unfortunate that i do not have the killer instinct. i have the razor tongue, i have the wordcraft, i know exactly where the jugular and soft spots are. i just can't do it.
for one thing, i know what it feels like to be on the receiving end (oh, let me count the ways) and for another, i know working with words is a gift. words carry great power -- the greatest of all. it's how we measure, how we determine our place in the world, it's how we define ourselves. it shapes relationships with others, maybe even others we will never know. our words are what we have that make us....well, us. what we say, how we say it, how we mean it....especially in the techno-wired world today.
with such power comes great responsibility. (i'm sure Spiderman's uncle was not the first person to say this.) i am responsible for what i say and how i say it and to some extent, how it affects others. this is serious shiz, friends and neighbors.
****
back to anger.
so i keep the muzzle on and the leash tight. oh, there might be some wimpering you can hear, but that's nothing. nothing at all. and it fades.
the trick, i've found, is to not say anything right now. wait. wait. as hard as it is, wait.
then wait some more.
yes, i know it's difficult. yes, i know i want to go kick a puppy or something (well, i would never kick a puppy but you get the point,) but WAIT. oooohhhh, waitwaitwait because once you say those words, you can never, ever take them back.
bruises will fade, but the scars will stay blinding white.
****
trust me, i know whereof i speak.
****
and then, i write. i writewritewrite it all out. sometimes i do it longhand, then burn the pages. sometimes i'm gripping the pen so tight my knuckles are white and i'm crying so hard i can't see what i'm writing. sometimes all i can see are blurred lines through the veil of tears and snot. (hey, it's dirty in the trenches.) sometimes i write an email but never send it, pounding the keys so hard the popping sound fills my ears. sometimes, if it's something really major, and i'm more angry with myself than anyone else, i'll find ways to punish myself. (ah, but i'm on to me now! i've learned! yay me!)
i write it all out until the heat fades. it seems best.
then i tuck it away. maybe someday to forgive, but to never forget.
never.
****
there will always be a burn mark, or a brand, purpled and twisted, but that's okay. it reminds me of circumstance and situation, and hopefully i can avoid it in the future. it reminds me *I* am the one in control. *I* am the one that chose *NOT* to give in to the Dark Side, and that makes me one bad-ass motherfucker. Luke Skywalker has got NOTHING on me.
i am one awesome bitch. oh, yes i am, and it feels great to say it.
****
i'm still very angry. but i feel better now. and i will feel better tomorrow. pretty soon, i'll feel so goddamned good i won't be able to stand myself.
heh.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
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