Well okay. Yes. We all know I am crazy-mad… but that’s beside the point.
Today, and for the last several days, I’ve been angry-mad. Like peeved off at the world and all the annoying people in it-mad. Like how can there be this many stupid people in the world-mad. Like why am I still stuck surrounded by these people instead of getting on with my life-mad.
Firstly, I’m mad about the big stuff…
I’m mad at my life and how much I have seen myself changed. I’m mad that somewhere in there, I lost myself. So slowly and imperceptibly that I didn’t notice for so long. I’m mad that it took so much time and energy to find myself again. I’m mad that I’m still so lost, even after all that.
I’m mad that all these changes feel so scary. I’m mad that I’m not stronger in facing them. I’m mad for being weak. I’m mad that I am so afraid of being weak. I’m mad that that makes me weak.
I’m mad that they don’t understand my reasons for these changes. I’m mad at their criticisms and concerns. I’m mad that they think I’m moving backwards. I’m mad that a tiny part of me wonders if they are right. I’m mad at my own weakness in questioning myself.
I’m mad at my career. I’m mad that it’s provoked such panic, time and time again. I’m mad that I’ve let it. I’m mad at how drained it’s left me. I’m mad every time I consider yet another change. I’m mad that I always end up leaving. I’m mad that it takes me so long to realize I need to leave. I’m mad at how exhausted every move leaves me. I’m mad that my latest enterprise hasn’t taken off like I hoped, despite it still exhausting me.
I’m mad at my computer. Oh man, am I mad at my computer. I’m mad when it runs out of hard drive space every 5 minutes. I’m mad every time I have to safe reboot this damn thing. I’m mad that I have to start all over again every time. I’m mad that I can’t be more patient. I’m mad that I’m taking for granted this very nice MacBook Pro laptop that not everyone can afford.
I’m mad that it didn’t work out with him. With all of them. I’m mad that I have found incredible, indescribable, incomparable connections — with men who for one reason or another just couldn’t be with me, or I with them. I’m mad that I’m not sure it’s out there for me. I’m mad that I’m losing hope. I’m mad that it never seems to…