I have let go of some deep hurts, rages, and resentments. So far, the space created by these extractions has been filled with something that hurts even MORE.
What the hell is that all about?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The First 31 Days
I had high hopes for this year; I really did.
I have let go of some deep hurts, rages, and resentments. So far, the space created by these extractions has been filled with something that hurts even MORE.
What the hell is that all about?
I have let go of some deep hurts, rages, and resentments. So far, the space created by these extractions has been filled with something that hurts even MORE.
What the hell is that all about?
The Good Ol' Days
I thought things couldn't get any worse after getting stood up three times the week before Christmas.
What the fuck did I know?
What the fuck did I know?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Update
Well.
At least I can say that I gave it my all.
Now I have a whole NEW thing to be pissed off about: I devoted every ounce of my being to a situation and I still got crushed. Without reason or explanation.
I hate "Life."
At least I can say that I gave it my all.
Now I have a whole NEW thing to be pissed off about: I devoted every ounce of my being to a situation and I still got crushed. Without reason or explanation.
I hate "Life."
Friday, January 15, 2010
Realization #1
Just because I've changed doesn't mean other people stop being assholes.
After the momentous "I didn't shoot (literally or metaphorically) anyone" experience the other day, I truly expected a thunderclap. Heavens opening, clouds parting, trumpets blaring...
Of course, there was that earthquake in Haiti, but -- despite dear Aunt Lorraine's contention that I affect the weather -- I don't think that was Heaven's confirmation that I have finally pulled my head out of my ass. That's ridiculous.
Is that how illumination comes? It slowly sneaks in and sits next to us, unconcerned that we haven't noticed it, knowing we eventually will?
Is illumination a cat?
Of course, there was that earthquake in Haiti, but -- despite dear Aunt Lorraine's contention that I affect the weather -- I don't think that was Heaven's confirmation that I have finally pulled my head out of my ass. That's ridiculous.
Is that how illumination comes? It slowly sneaks in and sits next to us, unconcerned that we haven't noticed it, knowing we eventually will?
Is illumination a cat?
Later, I worried that my newfound mellowness would dull my edge. I can be soft, but I prefer not to be, in general. I prefer people to be a little afraid. I don't want to turn into one of those dewy, "Let's all hold hands and sit in a circle and sing 'Kumbaya' " people. Ick. All I want is for The Shadow to stop running The Show. Does letting go of the latter ensure the former?
I hope the hell not.
JoJo pointed out that changes with me do not necessarily precipitate changes in others. As much as I'd like to believe in the Cosmic Ripple Effect, JoJo is right: There are dams everywhere. And pebbles, too. I take solace in that my emerging light will shine somewhere, although the recipient may be totally random.
Sort of like how I secretly hope the rantings in this blog will somehow lead to an engineer in Australia planting daffodils.
While the people Down Under may be basking in the warmth of my Sun, the people closest to me may not. Thus, the potential for encounters and interactions to feed my sharp wit truly has not diminished.
This realization has made the path I'm on a little less agonious*: At least I still get to stab people. OK, so now most of it is in my head (again the quest for the high road, no matter how soul-numbingly mature), but there's still material. And now this blog. So both my Aurora’s (my Higher Self) and Amanda's (my Inner Child) needs are met.
All right.
I guess compromise (ick) is of a part of balance. I guess that means I am doing the right thing. I guess that means I should stop complaining. I guess bliss descended and I was too trivially preoccupied to notice.
Hm.
Does the silent thunderclap account for the invisible changes?
* Note: "Agonious" is a term I coined while I was working on my Masters in Experimental Psychology at Cal State Fullerton. It means "agony-filled."
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Clutter Removal, Part 2 -- Trash Day
Today is Trash Day.
I have a 90-gallon trash can that I fill up every week. That's 90 gallons of trash (other than yard debris and recyclabes, mind you) for one person and three cats every week. Granted, I have only been filling it for a few weeks (inspired by my neighbor who I discovered came over at 5 am on Trash Day to put his trash in my can. This discovery irritated me to no end. Yes, I am that petty.) but still...that's a lot of stuff I didn't/don't need.
Back to my neighbor: Who holds onto their trash for a week, hoping that a neighbor's can has enough room to make a deposit? I mean, these people have a dog the size of my car! What do they do with all of that shit?
I understand times are tough for most people (he says he can't afford the $30.00 a month for trash serivce), but this same neighbor likes to show off his vintage Stratocaster so I don't feel too sorry for him.
The point is: I would love it if once, just once, someone else got up at 6 am on a Thursday morning (no matter *what* the weather) to put out my 90-gallon can.
I have a 90-gallon trash can that I fill up every week. That's 90 gallons of trash (other than yard debris and recyclabes, mind you) for one person and three cats every week. Granted, I have only been filling it for a few weeks (inspired by my neighbor who I discovered came over at 5 am on Trash Day to put his trash in my can. This discovery irritated me to no end. Yes, I am that petty.) but still...that's a lot of stuff I didn't/don't need.
Back to my neighbor: Who holds onto their trash for a week, hoping that a neighbor's can has enough room to make a deposit? I mean, these people have a dog the size of my car! What do they do with all of that shit?
I understand times are tough for most people (he says he can't afford the $30.00 a month for trash serivce), but this same neighbor likes to show off his vintage Stratocaster so I don't feel too sorry for him.
The point is: I would love it if once, just once, someone else got up at 6 am on a Thursday morning (no matter *what* the weather) to put out my 90-gallon can.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
What If I'm Not Funny Anymore?
I have been worried that, if I lose my anger, I will lose my edge. I do enjoy my wit.
Grasshopper Pike pointed out that Life provides an endless supply of irritations and people to commit them.
I realized that she's right: there ALWAYS will be something to get pissed off about. As long as there are politicians and students and bitchy self-absorbed women whose g-strings are too tight (and their husbands), there will be something to get pissed off about.
{sigh}
I feel better.
Onward!
Grasshopper Pike pointed out that Life provides an endless supply of irritations and people to commit them.
I realized that she's right: there ALWAYS will be something to get pissed off about. As long as there are politicians and students and bitchy self-absorbed women whose g-strings are too tight (and their husbands), there will be something to get pissed off about.
{sigh}
I feel better.
Onward!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Update
This morning, I walked out onto my patio to discover two scruffy-looking men helping themselves to my (pressure-treated, pre-cut, stacked) wood.
While this situation eventually got straightened out (in 2008, I told my next door neighbors they could use the wood to repair the fence that we share); that’s not the point.
The point is: Had this situation occurred any day before today it would have turned out totally different.
Had I heard a strange noise on the patio and discovered two men helping themselves to my pressure-treated, pre-cut, stacked wood any time between June 2006 – January 11, 2010, I would have:
Today, January 12, 2010, I did none of those things. I calmly went out the back door – I think I surprised them more than they surprised me – and asked what was going on. I might be able to talk them into doing a couple of things for me.
That’s progress
Of course, I remain insulted by Life and I have a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in my heart, but…this situation could have turned out sooooo much differently. In fact, I’m not sure it wasn’t all a dream.
And...someone else removed one pile of clutter! Maybe there’s hope for 2010 after all!!
While this situation eventually got straightened out (in 2008, I told my next door neighbors they could use the wood to repair the fence that we share); that’s not the point.
The point is: Had this situation occurred any day before today it would have turned out totally different.
Had I heard a strange noise on the patio and discovered two men helping themselves to my pressure-treated, pre-cut, stacked wood any time between June 2006 – January 11, 2010, I would have:
- called 911;
- activated the alarm;
- stormed out the back (gun drawn); and,
- roared “GET THE HELL OFF MY PROPERTY.”
Today, January 12, 2010, I did none of those things. I calmly went out the back door – I think I surprised them more than they surprised me – and asked what was going on. I might be able to talk them into doing a couple of things for me.
That’s progress
Of course, I remain insulted by Life and I have a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in my heart, but…this situation could have turned out sooooo much differently. In fact, I’m not sure it wasn’t all a dream.
And...someone else removed one pile of clutter! Maybe there’s hope for 2010 after all!!
Monday, January 11, 2010
PS
I realize I should be down on my knees with gratitude that my Beloved Dad made it through his surgery and recovery with flying colors. Please do not misunderstand; I AM down on my knees with gratitude over my Beloved Dad flying (albeit with a walker) colorfully through his major surgery and excruciating recovery.
But, at the same time, I am down on my knees in despair over what it cost both of us. I can't remember ever being so joyful and so desolate at the same time. And sooooo guilty that my Dad's restoration is not enough to keep me from crying over the turned cups.
It's the dichotomy that is slowly driving me insane.
But, at the same time, I am down on my knees in despair over what it cost both of us. I can't remember ever being so joyful and so desolate at the same time. And sooooo guilty that my Dad's restoration is not enough to keep me from crying over the turned cups.
It's the dichotomy that is slowly driving me insane.
The First 10 Days
So I have been releasing my anger for 10 days. During those 10 days, I have let go of:
- My general, overall anger.
- My anger over the karmic mood swing that wiped out all of my hope and happiness.
- My anger over all of the clutter. I hate clutter. Why is there so much of it?
- My bitterness over all of the love and compassion and empathy I poured into the world and the only result is the obduration of my heart.
- My resentment over my choice to not act out but instead act like a lady. For the record, “acting like a lady” is highly overrated.
- My resentment over my choice to (physically) stay where I am. It is time for a disappearing act, time to pack up and move, but instead, I stay. I stay to endure the consequences of both my actions and my personality. I stay to endure the sting of alienation and failure. What kind of masochist have I become? What’s next? Getting married?
- My bitterness that illumination has brought only clarity, not peace of mind.
That’s 7 out of 100 things. Not bad for the first 10 days. And, while it may seem like the above should create more, additional, “things,” rest assured, I am letting all of those go, too.
Reading over my list, it strikes me that a person must have a lot of anger (and a close relationship with it) to have it all neat and organized and categorized. Now only if I could get my office that organized. Or my house. Or my tax receipts.
Reading over my list, it strikes me that a person must have a lot of anger (and a close relationship with it) to have it all neat and organized and categorized. Now only if I could get my office that organized. Or my house. Or my tax receipts.
Having completed 7% of my task, how do I feel? Bitter, angry, resentful, hopeless, and more depressed. I thought this exercise was supposed to help. I understand I am supposed to keep going; to forge ahead; that this is the fire, but…does it have to be so God-damned hot?
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Illumination
Today, January 6, is the Feast of the Epiphany and, technically, the last day of Christmas (if you count 12 days starting with December 24, you will arrive on January 6).
The Epiphany is when the Wise Men visited the baby Jesus and recognized Him as the Son of God. So the Feast of the Epiphany celebrates illumination.
I always want illumination; I want to know WHY things are the way they are and WHY they go down the way they do.
The problem with illumination is, once you see something, you can't un-see what you have just seen. You can't un-know what has just been burned into your brain. You can't barf back up the red pill, although wouldn't this be wonderful.
This is exactly why Oedipus blinded himself.
The Epiphany is when the Wise Men visited the baby Jesus and recognized Him as the Son of God. So the Feast of the Epiphany celebrates illumination.
I always want illumination; I want to know WHY things are the way they are and WHY they go down the way they do.
The problem with illumination is, once you see something, you can't un-see what you have just seen. You can't un-know what has just been burned into your brain. You can't barf back up the red pill, although wouldn't this be wonderful.
This is exactly why Oedipus blinded himself.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Alchemy, Part 1
I'm not the same person I was on 08/09/09 and I resent that.
I’m sure it is for the greater (and my) good that I learn more about compassion generally and forgiveness specifically, but God dammit! Did it have to come at such a price?
I understand intellectually that forgiveness is a good thing (especially forgiveness of self) but emotionally…that is another story.
When I am on the receiving end of (however unintentional or misunderstood) cruelty, I place as much distance as possible between myself and the offending person/place/thing to prevent a recurrence. I have done this for years. I have done this to myself (placed as much distance as possible between me and myself).
What I’ve come to understand is that there is no running from emotional pain and no matter how much you try to distract yourself from it, it sits and lingers and festers and boils over. Usually at the most inappropriate time.
Of course I understand this about other people (I have been a psychologist for over 20 years). The pisser is that *I* have done what I have counseled hundreds of others not to. I don’t mean this in an egotistical way (“How could this happen to me?!”); I mean this in a who-is-that-idiot-in-the-mirror way (“How could I be so CLUELESS???”).
It was a good 10 years after the last sprint (which took me to an entirely different plane) that I experienced (yet another) cycle of mind-erosion, soul-numbing, and ass-bursting. There were a couple hints that a pachakuti (1) was on its way, but I stayed put. I own property now, so disappearing is not so easy.
After the Cosmic Hurricane left, there was a hell of a mess to clean up.
Rather than just leave, like I always do, I wanted to stay. More accurately, I did not want to leave the situation in the center of the storm. I liked the situation too much. I loved the situation. I did not want it to end. Undergo major surgery; OK. Endure an excruciating rehabilitation; all right. But end? NO.
This wanting to stick it out and re-work and repair…what a totally foreign and incomprehensible thing.
I understand this really is all about forgiveness of self—what we can’t own or face is reflected back to us by others—but…I have really pissed myself off! How could I forgive that and set myself up for recurrence?
What I have learned is that The Lesson is not about prevention. Life is going to happen whether we want it to or not. We are going to hurt ourselves (and others) whether we want to or not. The Lesson is about coping better the next time and minimizing the damage.
Just like it (should) only take one dead battery incident to learn to keep jumper cables in the car, it (should) only take one life-altering cycle to learn that, eventually, God does reset the playing pieces.
Yet some of us don’t understand the first (or second or third or fourth or 187th) time that it’s not really about the dead battery. It’s about how you cope with the dead battery. You know you will eventually get a new one and the car will start. Getting the car to start is the adventure.
There is also a Lesson about commitment here, about finding a situation you want to maintain and MAINTAINING it. I never saw the value of that before 08/09/09; I preferred new situations, still in their wrapping. Once the wrapping came off…onto the next one! An endless Christmas morning for a two year-old.
This all boils down to: I chose to take a grow-up pill and the side effects are uncomfortable on a cellular level. I realize that caterpillars change on a cellular level to become butterflies and that fairy tales are really all about transformation.
However…
My Inner Child is still crying over her abandonment and I just can’t convince her that this time, this time, I will not leave her.
_____
(1) “Pachakuti” is a Peruvian shamanic term for, basically, “cosmic upheaval.”
I’m sure it is for the greater (and my) good that I learn more about compassion generally and forgiveness specifically, but God dammit! Did it have to come at such a price?
I understand intellectually that forgiveness is a good thing (especially forgiveness of self) but emotionally…that is another story.
When I am on the receiving end of (however unintentional or misunderstood) cruelty, I place as much distance as possible between myself and the offending person/place/thing to prevent a recurrence. I have done this for years. I have done this to myself (placed as much distance as possible between me and myself).
What I’ve come to understand is that there is no running from emotional pain and no matter how much you try to distract yourself from it, it sits and lingers and festers and boils over. Usually at the most inappropriate time.
Of course I understand this about other people (I have been a psychologist for over 20 years). The pisser is that *I* have done what I have counseled hundreds of others not to. I don’t mean this in an egotistical way (“How could this happen to me?!”); I mean this in a who-is-that-idiot-in-the-mirror way (“How could I be so CLUELESS???”).
It was a good 10 years after the last sprint (which took me to an entirely different plane) that I experienced (yet another) cycle of mind-erosion, soul-numbing, and ass-bursting. There were a couple hints that a pachakuti (1) was on its way, but I stayed put. I own property now, so disappearing is not so easy.
After the Cosmic Hurricane left, there was a hell of a mess to clean up.
Rather than just leave, like I always do, I wanted to stay. More accurately, I did not want to leave the situation in the center of the storm. I liked the situation too much. I loved the situation. I did not want it to end. Undergo major surgery; OK. Endure an excruciating rehabilitation; all right. But end? NO.
This wanting to stick it out and re-work and repair…what a totally foreign and incomprehensible thing.
I understand this really is all about forgiveness of self—what we can’t own or face is reflected back to us by others—but…I have really pissed myself off! How could I forgive that and set myself up for recurrence?
What I have learned is that The Lesson is not about prevention. Life is going to happen whether we want it to or not. We are going to hurt ourselves (and others) whether we want to or not. The Lesson is about coping better the next time and minimizing the damage.
Just like it (should) only take one dead battery incident to learn to keep jumper cables in the car, it (should) only take one life-altering cycle to learn that, eventually, God does reset the playing pieces.
Yet some of us don’t understand the first (or second or third or fourth or 187th) time that it’s not really about the dead battery. It’s about how you cope with the dead battery. You know you will eventually get a new one and the car will start. Getting the car to start is the adventure.
There is also a Lesson about commitment here, about finding a situation you want to maintain and MAINTAINING it. I never saw the value of that before 08/09/09; I preferred new situations, still in their wrapping. Once the wrapping came off…onto the next one! An endless Christmas morning for a two year-old.
This all boils down to: I chose to take a grow-up pill and the side effects are uncomfortable on a cellular level. I realize that caterpillars change on a cellular level to become butterflies and that fairy tales are really all about transformation.
However…
My Inner Child is still crying over her abandonment and I just can’t convince her that this time, this time, I will not leave her.
_____
(1) “Pachakuti” is a Peruvian shamanic term for, basically, “cosmic upheaval.”
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Clutter
I have a room in my house (doesn’t everyone?) that’s a storehouse of “undiscovered treasures.” Any time I’m working on a project and I am in need of something (like a food dehydrator or a wrench), I check the spare room first. Invariably, I find what I am looking for. Or something else that will work instead.
While I always enjoy a good treasure hunt, I worry that this room is really just a physical manifestation of my cluttered mind. Yes, there’s good stuff in there like that extra set of twinkly lights, but there’s a lot of crap too, like the hairball Ambhyrr (Cat #1) threw up in 2007 which is now moldy and possibly breathing.
What other ick is in there?
When I first bought The Estate, I imaged this room as the “Creativity Center.” But, looking around, I see that the only thing created here in the last 5½ years is a really big mess.
Again, the similarity to my usual state of mind is striking.
As the scent of the New Year lingers in the air, I release my attachment to the clutter that I think keeps me “safe.” This may take a while as I have more than one room like this, but, as God is my witness, I will de-clutter.
Today, I went into the Spare Room and took out two things I used (balls of yarn) and two things I threw away (large pieces of cardboard). Only 457,862.7 things left to go.
That’s progress, isn’t it?
While I always enjoy a good treasure hunt, I worry that this room is really just a physical manifestation of my cluttered mind. Yes, there’s good stuff in there like that extra set of twinkly lights, but there’s a lot of crap too, like the hairball Ambhyrr (Cat #1) threw up in 2007 which is now moldy and possibly breathing.
What other ick is in there?
When I first bought The Estate, I imaged this room as the “Creativity Center.” But, looking around, I see that the only thing created here in the last 5½ years is a really big mess.
Again, the similarity to my usual state of mind is striking.
As the scent of the New Year lingers in the air, I release my attachment to the clutter that I think keeps me “safe.” This may take a while as I have more than one room like this, but, as God is my witness, I will de-clutter.
Today, I went into the Spare Room and took out two things I used (balls of yarn) and two things I threw away (large pieces of cardboard). Only 457,862.7 things left to go.
That’s progress, isn’t it?
Friday, January 1, 2010
2009
The year started off with a bang! when, in January, I was kicked out of my life.
I was not welcome to the people or the places or the events around which I had built a network. One day I was part of something, the next I wasn’t -- with no opportunity for discussion or appeal. Eight years undone in the same number of hours.
It took several dazed yet frenetic weeks to realize the extent of this banishment. In March, an experience on a downtown Portland street corner gave me a glimpse into a future of which I wanted no part. Of that I was sure.
So, unable to wait any longer for understanding, I set out to re-build my life. Again.
The good news (there were three good things in 2009; this the first one) was that my Muse came back. This time, I don’t care if I get squeezed out the asshole of the Universe. At least I know what to expect. I do have the gift of resurrection.
I was feeling almost hopeful around mid-summer, despite the 107 degrees. Perhaps the pain and agony of the previous six months were worth the inspiration and contentment that were seeping back into my skin.
Then SWAT Team showed up.
This event will have its own (future) blog entry, so for now, let me say this: When the SWAT Team takes position in your front yard, it’s time to make some changes. Granted, I was relieved they were not there for me (this time), but nonetheless. Forced participation in a 13-hour standoff gives one time to think.
Just as I decided to venture back out into the world, My Person found me (the second good thing that happened during 2009). While this was wonderful, My Person found me on the same day I learned my Beloved Father required major surgery to repair his heart.
As this was both the best and the worst day of my entire life, I began to make plans for both the best and the worst.
Then, on Halloween, a karmic mood swing came down and wiped out all of my plans. I am still REALLY PISSED about this. I realize by writing about it I have to let it go. I understand the cure for Karma Hangover is to be thankful for the reset. However, I have no interest in being that mature.
The third (and best best) good thing that happened in 2009 was my Beloved Father came through his surgery with flying colors. That joy, too, was short-lived as his recovery has been grueling.
So: That’s three good things out of an approximate 1100 things total in 2009. That’s 3/1100 or 0.003 or 0.3% good things that happened in 2009. That’s like an F-.
Even Santa didn’t visit.
The bottom line is: Any year that ends with me menstruating twice is not a good one. Now there is no doubt; inspiration and contentment have been replaced by uterus-flipping stress.
I welcome you with open arms, 2010. I look forward to you helping me flip it all back.
I was not welcome to the people or the places or the events around which I had built a network. One day I was part of something, the next I wasn’t -- with no opportunity for discussion or appeal. Eight years undone in the same number of hours.
It took several dazed yet frenetic weeks to realize the extent of this banishment. In March, an experience on a downtown Portland street corner gave me a glimpse into a future of which I wanted no part. Of that I was sure.
So, unable to wait any longer for understanding, I set out to re-build my life. Again.
The good news (there were three good things in 2009; this the first one) was that my Muse came back. This time, I don’t care if I get squeezed out the asshole of the Universe. At least I know what to expect. I do have the gift of resurrection.
I was feeling almost hopeful around mid-summer, despite the 107 degrees. Perhaps the pain and agony of the previous six months were worth the inspiration and contentment that were seeping back into my skin.
Then SWAT Team showed up.
This event will have its own (future) blog entry, so for now, let me say this: When the SWAT Team takes position in your front yard, it’s time to make some changes. Granted, I was relieved they were not there for me (this time), but nonetheless. Forced participation in a 13-hour standoff gives one time to think.
Just as I decided to venture back out into the world, My Person found me (the second good thing that happened during 2009). While this was wonderful, My Person found me on the same day I learned my Beloved Father required major surgery to repair his heart.
As this was both the best and the worst day of my entire life, I began to make plans for both the best and the worst.
Then, on Halloween, a karmic mood swing came down and wiped out all of my plans. I am still REALLY PISSED about this. I realize by writing about it I have to let it go. I understand the cure for Karma Hangover is to be thankful for the reset. However, I have no interest in being that mature.
The third (and best best) good thing that happened in 2009 was my Beloved Father came through his surgery with flying colors. That joy, too, was short-lived as his recovery has been grueling.
So: That’s three good things out of an approximate 1100 things total in 2009. That’s 3/1100 or 0.003 or 0.3% good things that happened in 2009. That’s like an F-.
Even Santa didn’t visit.
The bottom line is: Any year that ends with me menstruating twice is not a good one. Now there is no doubt; inspiration and contentment have been replaced by uterus-flipping stress.
I welcome you with open arms, 2010. I look forward to you helping me flip it all back.
Introduction
Hello Everyone Out There. Greetings from Over Here.
The purpose of this blog is to officially (and publicly, so there is no going back) let go of my anger.
Two winters ago, I was giving a lecture to my abnormal psychology class about how unexpressed anger can manifest in a myriad of ways.
One of my students asked, "Professor, what do you do with your anger?"
For the first time in 17 years, I was silenced by a question. I simply stood and stared at the student, open-mouthed.
I thought I did a GREAT job of keeping my outrage under wraps.
Apparently not. At least to one person.
"How many others?" I wondered, when -- much later -- I regained my faculties.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At times, late at night, I wonder if there is anyone out there; if anyone is really listening or if ANYONE actually cares.
After 10 years of working with the criminally insane and 20 years working with college students (two groups with more in common than one might suspect), I wonder how many people I've actually helped? How many have come away from their time with me somehow better, happier, inspired? Most of what I remember is the recidivism and the negative feedback and the jealousy-fueled battles with my colleagues.
And the lawsuits. Oh, the lawsuits.
There is one student who told me she stayed in college and wants to be a psychologist because of her time in my classes. This should be flattering; however, I despair over someone wanting to follow in my footsteps. It's been a rough road.
Maybe I'm just depressed.
The psychologists say that depression is anger turned inward and so now I arrive at my point:
Welcome. Welcome to my blog.
It's taken two years and devastating loss to answer my student's question. The answer is:
For the record: The birthday of this blog is January 1, 2010, which is exactly three months, three weeks and one day after The Moment.
Confidential to ST, soon-to-be SC: Thank you for the encouragement to write a blog. Yours was the straw that broke the back of my rectal-cranial inversion.
*Note. There are 535 people in the US Congress.
Happy New Year.
The purpose of this blog is to officially (and publicly, so there is no going back) let go of my anger.
Two winters ago, I was giving a lecture to my abnormal psychology class about how unexpressed anger can manifest in a myriad of ways.
One of my students asked, "Professor, what do you do with your anger?"
For the first time in 17 years, I was silenced by a question. I simply stood and stared at the student, open-mouthed.
I thought I did a GREAT job of keeping my outrage under wraps.
Apparently not. At least to one person.
"How many others?" I wondered, when -- much later -- I regained my faculties.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At times, late at night, I wonder if there is anyone out there; if anyone is really listening or if ANYONE actually cares.
After 10 years of working with the criminally insane and 20 years working with college students (two groups with more in common than one might suspect), I wonder how many people I've actually helped? How many have come away from their time with me somehow better, happier, inspired? Most of what I remember is the recidivism and the negative feedback and the jealousy-fueled battles with my colleagues.
And the lawsuits. Oh, the lawsuits.
There is one student who told me she stayed in college and wants to be a psychologist because of her time in my classes. This should be flattering; however, I despair over someone wanting to follow in my footsteps. It's been a rough road.
Maybe I'm just depressed.
The psychologists say that depression is anger turned inward and so now I arrive at my point:
Welcome. Welcome to my blog.
It's taken two years and devastating loss to answer my student's question. The answer is:
(Now), I let it go.
In this blog, I let go of my anger. I let go of the injustices, the insults, the injuries and the ignorance I have allowed to block my path for far too long. A sort of spiritual enema, if you will.
Over the course of the next 365 days, I will let go of (at least) 100 things that have/are pissed/pissing me off.
Lest you think that 100 is a lot, there are 535 people* that are pissing me off right at this very moment.
Lest you think that 100 is a lot, there are 535 people* that are pissing me off right at this very moment.
For the record: The birthday of this blog is January 1, 2010, which is exactly three months, three weeks and one day after The Moment.
Confidential to ST, soon-to-be SC: Thank you for the encouragement to write a blog. Yours was the straw that broke the back of my rectal-cranial inversion.
*Note. There are 535 people in the US Congress.
Happy New Year.
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