I know when someone is mad at me. I may not always understand the reasons why,
but I have no doubt I messed up somewhere.
I just wish, when I've hurt or offended someone in some way, they’d tell me what I've done. If I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you, I
can’t make it right. It bothers me deeply
to know I've hurt someone, but not
know how or why. I dislike hurting
people, immensely, and I certainly don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Hm…who can I mess with today?” And please don’t tell me, “You know what you did!” expecting me to
know, because half the time I can’t remember my own name and the other half I
can’t remember what I had for dinner the night before. I’m not trying to be flippant, or glib, but I
think we’d all be much better off if we communicated with one another; especially when an offense is
involved.
Hubby seems to think I worry too much about people being mad
at me. When I ask, “Are you mad at me?”
he gets upset and says, “Why do you always
think you’re the one I’m upset with?” Mainly because he’s always mad at me for
one thing or another (that's marriage, I guess) but also because body language speaks volumes and the
silent treatment doesn't usually happen unless there’s an issue.
But here's the current issue that's plaguing me: I don’t understand all this anger I've got within myself
right now. I’m FURIOUS AT EVERYTHING! I’m trying not to be. I’m making a concerted effort to speak kindly
or at least politely. Counting to ten
when I feel myself on auto-response and leaning toward pissed off. I’m trying to temper…uh…my temper. I’m trying to clear my mind of all the nasty
things rolling around inside of me, without much luck.
The other day, I was drinking a nice glass of white wine
from a lovely winery in Townsend, TN (Cades Cove Winery). I don’t remember exactly what else I was
doing – cleaning, I think – but I was so angry! Everything I saw, everything I touched just
made me mad. I was slamming around and snapping at everyone. My poor family was hiding from me. Eventually, hubby confiscated my glass of wine (which made me mad) and
replaced it with a large mug of freshly-brewed chamomile tea (which confused me, and pleased me all at the same time). I guess it was bedtime for Bonzo.
I’m still mad. I
still want to lash out. I don’t feel
like being pleasant and friendly. I want
to rail against the universe and I can’t
understand why. Folks may say it's grief talking, which is a possibility, though I think probably
unlikely. Or the depression which has been setting in for a while now and which I’m fighting tooth and nail. Which is probably why I’m angry. But it doesn't matter.
And, since we were just discussing cleaning while angry, I need to say I would very much like to get
one of those small bobcat bulldozer thingies and ‘doze everything (EVERYTHING)
out of my house and start over.
JMS
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