Anger Fret

Why are there few things as satisfying as Fruit Ninja?  Why can’t my hair look like I just walked out of Drybar every morning of my life?  Why does Chardonnay have more calories than Diet Coke? Why does inspiration strike when I don’t have time to write?  Why can’t my daughter just trust that I do want what’s best for her – and that sunblock is an essential, daily habit for a pale Angelino?   Why is there such a paucity of people who realize it is—or should be — all about me?

“You sound angry.”
“I thought I was being funny.”
“Guess there’s too much truth in your humor at the moment.”

Anger is an energy

I am angry. I am energized. I am enervated. I am pissed. My rage – at my world, at the world beyond my microcosm – at myself— fuels my ire. I am jealous. I am self-pitying. I am enraged. Life is unfair and it’s pissing me off.

In a previous life, I channeled my angry energy into writing – and producing – wrongs.   The first amendment guarantees all Americans the right to be freaks. I will not accept that those empowered to enforce the laws of my country – and paid for with my tax dollars – can treat outsiders, weirdos, ‘them’, those we don’t dare allow in our backyards – without due process.[1]  I am nauseated by the incompetent questioning of children about their possible abuse.   It puts innocent people behind bars.[2]  I don’t care who two consenting adults care to love – only if they can play the game.[3]

I don’t make films anymore (I still distribute them and thus the inclusion of  my self-serving footnotes) so my anger propels me to …. negativity. Rage. Jealousy – why does it seem the proverbial Joneses kick my ass on every metric?  Why is my hair a frizzy mess?  And why, oh why, oh why won’t my daughter accept my guidance without a fight? Why? Why? Why?

Anger is an energy

I am angry at the strong-willed daughter I prayed for while pregnant. Yes, I even rage at the irony. I rage at the teen who chafes against my ambitions for her. At a system that will make it harder for her out-of-the-box soul to find its passion and place.

My daughter fights just to spar – I guess anger is her energy too.  She is a mirror of my failings – those from which I am trying to save the both of us.

I could be wrong I could be right

I could be black I could be white

But I know that the road will rise with me… If I can model restraint instead of giving into the emotion of a contentious moment.   A fierce spirit can only separate with a fight.  A fight that will serve her well in our troubled world. I could be wrong, but I think I’m right in my belief that love and boundaries will put my kids on a road that can rise with them.  And with me. Because anger is an energy. I just need to point in the right direction.

[1] Waco: The Rules of Engagement

[2] The Jaundiced Eye

[3] Straight Acting

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