Vent. Skip post.
Hardest thing in the world is to let things be.
Women are naturally vindictive. In anger, we tend to claw and maul and scream at whatever caused the pain and then dissolve like sea salt once the violent spell is over. Or maybe thats just me. I wonder if it wouldn’t be better if I just held quiet grudges for years on end. Life would at least seem mildly civilized, and it would save me the mortification of apologizing just to get things back to normal.
I’m a hell fire and brimstone girl, not ice and snow. Loud, violent, hungry, burning everything in it’s path, causing as much destruction as I can before the anger finally dies. And remorse kicks in. Passionate, excitable, alive, vibrant; I am red in all it’s true-blue glory.
Until I hit an iceman.
When the rage is over, and the world is back in its place, I realize that I have to pick up the charred remains of everything myself. Wouldn’t it have been so much simpler to freeze? No cleaning up afterwards, just a happy melting over time. If only I had the mental capacity to remember the last time I burst into flames- it’s a mistake I make every fortnight after all, over the same issues, again and again. I’m not a fast learner- in fact I’m hopelessly optimistic. Maybe this time it’ll be different. Maybe just this once. Why don’t I ever apply my cynicism to myself?
Always have a happy place to go to. It could be physical, like Rose Gumbo’s tree, or just a memory of time well spent, but always have somewhere to go to when you want to run away for a while.