OH MY GOD. I am so angry and so frustrated. I’ve had the worst day. A day so rotten and intolerable that not even new shoes and 3 episodes of Dawson’s Creek have helped.
I’ve written about my rage-inducing incident about 39 times, hoping it would make me feel better. But I am still angry. I’ve even typed the whole thing up here. Twice. But saying the things I like to say when I am so angry I could spit nails and then pushing publish would be a career-ending mistake.
But I am still so mad.
Incidentally, as an aside, our Dad would never let us say we were mad. Whenever one of my sisters or I would holler “I’m mad at you” or something like that, he’d always say, “Dogs get mad, people get angry.”
Which is really just weird.
Also, my mom would never, ever let us say we hated each other, even if it was totally true at the time of the utterance. “Oh,” she’d say. “I couldn’t afford the psychiatric care you’d need if one of your sisters died.” Apparently that was supposed to lessen the hate. It never worked.
And these wee little strolls down memory lane have not helped me get over the all-consuming burning rage in my heart. But at least I tried.