Rage Shrapnel

This morning I have my joke book open to my left, a phenomenal book about creativity open to my right, and my laptop open to the book I’m writing.  When I multitask I at least stay on board with one theme.

Some good shit happened this past year and one of them was being asked….not inspired, not compelled, not driven…but actually asked by a smart human person to write a book. I’m freaked out and also playing my cards very close to my chest while it’s happening but I couldn’t take another day without telling the six people who likely read this blog.  High five guys!

Some bad shit also happened last year  (feels good to say “last” doesn’t it?)  and I’ve come to the understanding that I not only multitask in my work, but also in my emotions.  Just look at the lines I’m growing on my face.  Some are horizontal from frowning, some sweep up from laughing, some are so deep that I’ve blocked what they’re from. The most ironically tragic are the ones around my mouth from whistling, which I do a lot, but are similar to my “Aunty” Faye’s terrifying chain smoker mouth.  Nice lady but mouth like a cat bum.  Fucked myself there with my good cheer didn’t I?

An unfortunate circumstance of having a lot of good things going on at the same time is that all of life’s other things bang up into them.  Only way to avoid this is death and Netflix.  A shiny spark of inspiration you must get down on paper gets interrupted by the air duct cleaner terrorist group and that spark fizzles out. You post a piece that you hope in a some way will contribute to women getting a tiny break and a dude tries to mansplain it, crushing that hope.  A brilliant quote you want to post on Facebook gets sidelined by noticing someone has unfriended you but not your husband.  Hmm, what’s that about lady?   (I know what it’s about.  It’s him not knowing how Facebook works because he does know how manipulators work)  Oh no, I’m doing it!

I’m coining a new phrase here.  That phrase is Rage Shrapnel and you just got hit by some. Sorry guys.  It is my resolution this year to get a handle on it.  To not let my disappointment in people and circumstances show as much but rather let all my secret joys out to dance on my face instead, hoping they’ll leave their marks.  Can’t be annoyed by people who just…can’t…let…things…go without doing it myself right?

The person that walks in the door right after you’ve read a rejection letter isn’t deserving of the fallout of whatever insta-rage you’ve just flown into.  Unless you live with an editor. I’m very much like my Dad in the way we both handle injustices.  Not that I’m saying rejection letters are an injustice YES I AM!  If someone is doing something bad and hurtful and wrong, my Dad and I both pack around feelings of anger in our hearts and on our faces until there is some kind of resolution.  We’re the keepers of the rage.  And fierce protectors of the marginalized.

We’ve all taken a day to gather our inspirational memes together while we nurse our cheese hangovers.  Day two of the year is the one I’m going to use to emotionally foam roller my face, let a lot of crap and crappy people go and continue into this year scared as hell about what I’m taking on but not telling my face.



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