Me: (letting out a howl) This is the most sucktastic day ever.
Frank: What’s wrong? What happened?
Me: I burned the frickin’ grilled cheese.
I snatch it out of the electric skillet, and cock back my arm.
Frank: Don’t do it. Don’t you throw that. Put it back.
I chuck the sandwich as hard as I can. Cheddar runs down the wall.
Frank: (condescendingly) Now, do you feel better?
I split what remains of the demolished sandwich between the dogs, wipe up the cheese, sigh, and smile.
Me: Actually, yes. Much, much better.
And I did feel better. And this is why I will never die of a stress-induced stroke. Instead of holding my anger in and letting it fester into some dreadful disease, I get rid of it on the spot. Now, I know in a perfect world where people levitated at whim and did yoga at sunrise and ate nothing but variations of Quinoa, I would have just taken three deep breaths, briefly pondered the metaphysical significance of the burnt bread, and moved on. But, this ain’t a perfect world and I’m not that evolved. And if you’re like me, you have to find a way to, in the words of Tears for Fears, “Shout, Shout, Let it all out.” I am a firm believer in forcefully tossing most everything…except dwarfs, which is just wrong. But if throwing things doesn’t work for you, punch a pillow, scream like a banshee, lay down in the floor and kick like a tired toddler, run it out. Just don’t let stress and anger become squatters in your soul. Stress and anger morph into guilt, self-loathing, suspicion, envy, and the fuel for that grudge that lasts for twenty years. The funny thing is if you just release your frustration into the expanse of the universe, it dissipates and disappears like a drop of red food coloring in the ocean. And once it’s gone, there is more room for peace and love and Girl Scout Cookies.
*This blog was not approved by the American Medical Association, American Dairy Association, or Girl Scouts of America*
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.