2:00 am

on anger. . .

I know I need to be better. My kids call me grumpy. It isn’t all the time, but even when I am joking around there is a bite to it. I also know the look on my face is usually not the most pleasant, but in reality, behind the scowl is a man willing to have a pleasant interaction. It is merely the mask a fearful scrawny kid maturing into what I call my “fuck off face”.

It served me well in them streets. I was not a physically imposing presence so I had to inject some uncertainty when it came to folks who may want to approach. Friend or foe, they all got the fuck off face. It kept me relatively safe but it also led to a lot of first impressions that were not wholly accurate.

I am certain I missed a lot of opportunities over a posture I couldn’t let go of.

I let go of the fear a long time ago but the fuck off face remains. Every negative emotion translated into molten rivers carving lines into my forehead. I learned to feel the despair and the grief and not turn away, but I learned to use it as fertilizer to grow flowers. I used it as coal to feed my furnace.

So yeah. I am fucking grumpy. The world is overflowing with shit to be grumpy about. Hell even your smartphone masters purposefully feed anger inducing content knowing it is the most addictive. Anger is a powerful emotion and it doesn’t take much to piss people off. Believe me I know.

It is much more difficult to get someone to fall in love even though we all know more love in the world means a better world. You can smile at a stranger and usually get one back but you can’t just stare at people with a dopey grin constantly. I mean you can, but it will be even more uncomfortable than staring at my face.

I hate that I am pissed off all the time. It is my ouroboros, and nothing seems to break the cycle. I have tried to join the positive thinking gang but it is hard to smile with a mouth full of the shit sandwiches the restaurant of life keeps serving me. It seems disingenuous to fake it until I make it so I don’t.

I also get really grumpy when I encounter people who are faking it.

People talk about finding their purpose, or that God has a plan for us all. This seems to come with the expectation that the purpose and the plan is a positive one. I want to believe this is true. I want to believe that if I brought light to the world I would be rewarded for it, but then I remember how much reward seems to funnel toward some real piece of shit people.

I believe in balance. I think nature and the universe tends toward an equilibrium. If God has a purpose for me perhaps it is to be grumpy. Perhaps I am here to shine the light on what other people need to be grumpy about. Maybe I am supposed to be riding the angry horse firing bitter arrows into the hearts and minds of people who are in denial of the fuckery surrounding us all.

There is something comforting about believing in a righteous anger. I have been ordained to piss you off.

Nah.

Bringing God into this seems egomaniacal. I am probably just undiagnosed and in need of some pharmaceuticals.

At the same time I can’t subscribe to the idea that happiness is the end all be all of human existence. People seem to clamor for pleasure and do all they can to deny the pain. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like living in a constant 72 degree spring with no ability to feel the surge of a scorching hot shower or the exhilaration from diving into an ice cold lake.

I don’t know. I think it is beneficial to inure yourself to the swings. Enduring pain and heartache prepares you for the next bout of pain and heartache. Like a baby who cries over a boo boo. Eventually it takes a lot more than a scrape to get the tears flowing. If you build up a tolerance to the pain, the major life events won’t cripple you.

The same can be said of the pleasure. This is how addicts are made. Instead of being able to handle pleasure with a measured understanding, being vaulted into ecstasy falls into chasing that dragon. If you practice the fleeting nature of euphoria you can be comfortable when it fades. It fades fast.

It’s okay.

You don’t have to feel good all the time.

I get that some people are burdened so heavily that chemical intervention is absolutely necessary, but it seems a lot of folks are led to believe there is a shortcut whenever getting the sads is inconvenient. I think perhaps an unrealistic expectation has been growing and the profit motive is convincing otherwise normal people to believe they are broken.

Like fuck man. I love the shit out of puppies and kittens but not everything about baby animals is glorious. Cleaning up vomit doesn’t bring a smile to my face. Watching them age and die is not a celebration. Still, I am not trying to avoid any of it. It comes with the territory. I don’t have to love handling piles of poop in order to love a furry mooshy moosher moosh.

I accept life as it is. When it is glorious I can engage. When it is crippling I let it be. I wouldn’t trade shaving some pain off the depths because it means dulling the highs. I want to be grumpy. Intensely grumpy. I want to hate what is hateable and feel that shit in my toes. I also want to love so fully it feels like I might die.

I want the human experience and I want all of it. It just so happens my default is to recognize the poops and the vomits and to want to call it out.

Hey!

Do you see this shit?

Makes me want to vomit.

I also get that working toward a better average happiness is a good thing. I just don’t think drugs or dopamine hits are a great way to try to achieve it. Taking in healthy doses from reasonable endeavors is going to serve you better, even if the result is meager. You don’t need to be shot to the moon of yum for life to be worth living.

I suppose that is what I like about dark humor. It is better to not deny the negative feelings, otherwise you will never overcome them. I do think it is healthy to dull the needle with a laugh though. I don’t think it is bad taste or inappropriate. It is a salve.

I don’t know. I have tried going to therapy. It didn’t take. Mostly because my anger isn’t disruptive. I don’t blow up at coworkers and get fired. I don’t rage on strangers and end up in jail. I don’t beat my loved ones because they pooped on the floor. I am angry, frustrated, bitter, and generally pessimistic, but I try to not poop on others.

In reality I don’t give a shit if you drug yourself into eternal numbness. It doesn’t effect me at all if you love cleaning up vomit. If you are faking it in my face I am not going to call you out on it. I will probably talk mad shit about you behind your back, but that’s my business.

I am too tired to care. I have been simmering for decades over a bunch of shit I can’t control. I need to realize that no matter how much I want the evils of the world to evaporate, they aren’t going anywhere. I have no super powers to combat them so there isn’t much left but acceptance. Finding a way to enjoy the shit sandwiches and relishing the vomit puddles.

I need to give myself over to the raging river of societal will and stop trying to swim against the current. I need to bow to my corporate overlords and their AI future. I need to sign my soul over to the government and let them manage my life. It will all be so much easier if I just give up and be what the system wants me to be.

Yeah fuck allat.

The anger gives me energy. Hating the alarm I awaken to gives me the strength to start the day. Knowing my life is a series of unnecessary irritants heightens my awareness. The hoard of homeless zombies I traverse on my way to the coffee shop sharpens my skills to avoid the brainless drivers going 50 while looking at their phones.

Maybe my anger has kept me down. Maybe it has kept me alive. It is possible my life will be better if I learn to let it go, but I think I need the anger. If I look down while I walk I can see the tripping hazards. I will end up falling on my face if I look to the heavens for too long.

I think I am supposed to be the angry one in all of this.

Get off my lawn.