It is a Saturday afternoon and I am at my husband’s house. He is off improving himself, and I am here alone with the chore of sorting through the last of my things here, the aim being to finish up all the loose ends and leave him a house that contains none of me and my objects.
I am having a very difficult time. Pretty much all I want to do is burn this place down. (And it might be only my years of tutelage as the child of antiques dealers–and hence a deep appreciation for things–which keeps me from doing so.)
Those who know me, know that such angry rage is not me. Those of you who do not know me (well), just trust me–rage to this extent is an unknown aspect of me.
And I am having a helluva time contending with it. Totally setting aside my decades of Good Girl training which categorizes anger as verboten, I just know that being in an angry mode is destructive, it is eating at my heart and soul, and probably at my gut, too.
On the other hand, it seems like this rage truly, honestly exists, and needs attention and expression.
I am trying to honor that, without complete harakiri of my spirit or self-immolation of my heart.
And I guess that today I want to apologize to all my friends and family and followers, for the overabundance of anger that I have been spewing (with the exception of my husband, to whom I do not apologize). I sincerely regret that 98% of my being right now is composed of angry and bitter energy, and that I am dispersing that a little too freely, I think.
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Well, you may not be willing to burn the place down, but I hear there is a little elf in Greenwood who really enjoys such activities. :p
I think you need a hot toddy, happy hour type thing.