Tag Archives: anger

Letting Go Challenge: Week Six

November 8, 2015 N J Ray 2 Comments

I apologize for the low quality picture. I took it at night because I wanted to make sure I got the stuff that was going to be dropped off at work out the next day, and the other two weren’t taken under the best photographic conditions, either.

28 Things:

1. Storage container for my medicine
2. Magic Wand
3. “I am loved” button
4. Downy packet
5. Bag of cat food
6. Button
7. Arthritis patches
8. Phone Charger
9. Single Knee Hi
10. Mini shampoo
11. Mini conditioner
12. Big bottle of conditioner
13. Book (look, i’ve started!) Zach’s lie
14. Top of a candle
15, 16, and 17: Three broken and/or empty pens
18. Alarm company security sign
19. Laptop box
20. Purple scarf
21. Alcohol bottle
22. Empty hair conditioner tube — found in a drawer
23. Black pants
24. Blue pants
25. Bra that has never fit
26 and 27. Two pairs of shoes
28. Writer’s Market 2013

One of the things I’ve discovered this week is the joy of seeing reaction of someone when I pass something on. I had the chance to see it twice.

The magic wand was given to me by an incredible lady when I was having a rough time. She is my purple fairy godmother. I’ve had it for a few years, and, as I was cleaning up, I discovered an old pin that said “I am loved.” I’m not sure where I got that from.

Someone I have known for over ten years–one of my first friends when I came to work for my employer–was in the hospital. We have had a tumultuous history, most of the tumult resulting from the fact that I really, really hated myself and had no idea who I was. Well, I knew what I was: I was venomous, but I couldn’t do anything to stem the flow. It just poured out of me, infecting everything I touched.

I was the opposite of Midas: Instead of turning things to gold, I turned them to shit.

Except for her. The thing was, she kept reaching out again and again and again when I really, really didn’t deserve it.

We would hang out, then not hang out, then hang out again, mostly going our separate ways when I got a transfer and she started attending church. We would see each other or text once in a while, but mostly it was space. A lot of it, I think, was because I couldn’t look her in the eye.

But then I found out, quite by accident, that she was in the hospital, in isolation because her condition was so dire. I waited a few days before contacting her, hoping she’d be out of isolation. It was within this span that I found my magic wand and the pin.

And so I contacted her and found that she was able to receive company. The first thing I did after giving her a hug made awkward by her hospital bed, and only a little bit by tension, was to give her the magic wand with the pin stuck in it.

I told her a little about the wand, but I don’t know if I told her that I didn’t need it any more. I guess the assumption is there since I was passing it down.

That was a bright moment: when I found it, I realized that, no matter what circumstances look like, I really didn’t need a magic wand. Now, the joke is that there is no magic wand that makes everything better; it’s just a representation of good wishes from a lady who wished she could make everything better for me. But the thing is, I really don’t need a magic wand. That wand became my wish I could make everything better for my hospital-bound friend.

I don’t remember what we talked about, mostly catching up, with my attempting to apologize for how shitty I was to her. Back in the day, my “personal space bubble” was nearly infinite, and I didn’t tolerate anyone invading it very well, and made sure everyone knew it.

At the end, she said, “That what’s you do when you love someone. Give them space and hope they come back.”

Anger, I’ve found, doesn’t have to be a way of life. It’s much better when it isn’t. And it’s not that I’ve changed–I haven’t changed. I just lost a lot of the garbage that wasn’t me.

Life is really, really good.

Also, the “ice chest” that my Enbrel came in served another purpose. My nephew received a bike for his birthday with a platform on the back. With a little bungee-cording, it fit perfectly.

So this:

Became this:

And life is really, really good.

acceptance, adaptation, RA

I Got It

June 16, 2015 N J Ray Leave a comment

You know what honey badgers don’t give?

It’ s a bit frightening to see a three year old with the attitude, spunk, foot stomping, and mad manipulation skills that took me nearly 19 years or so to master.

I fear for her parents.

She and her brother are like the sun and moon–I’m just not sure which is which. She–the younger by 2 years–is blonde and fluffy; he’s dark and slender. Their physical attributes are the least of their dissimilarities.

While the boy craves approval, and, thus, rarely actively misbehaves, the girl is a three-year-old honey badger with curls. Approval isn’t something she strives for, instead, it is something she bestows upon those around her if the mood so hits her.

Despite these differences, despite their sibling squabbles, it is so evident that they love each other, very, very much. If one falls down, the other is right there, even in the middle of having a hissy-fit, to pat the other on the back and say, “It’s all right, Bubba,” or “It’s all right, Boo.”

They hug. They dance. They fight.

They are amazing.

Two of the girl’s favorite phrases are “No” and “I got it.”

“I want” ranks pretty high up on the list, too.

We’ll ask her to get her shoes; we’ll say to someone else, “I’m going to get a glass of tea.”

If it involves getting something, she’s all about it, assuming her mood is amenable. “I got it.”

When she doesn’t want to share, the answer, if not the tone is the same. “I got it.”

When she’s really pissy, she has a mantra: “I got it, I got it, I got it.”

Continue reading I Got It →

musing, paradigm shift

‘Roid Rage and Rational Musing

June 14, 2015 N J Ray Leave a comment

“Prison is quite literally a ghetto in the most classic sense of the world, a place where the U.S. government now puts not only the dangerous but also the inconvenient—people who are mentally ill, people who are addicts, people who are poor and uneducated and unskilled.” — Piper Kerman

There’s an owl calling out for some reason. It’s 1 pm in the afternoon just after a rain storm–not exactly what I’d expect.

I’ve been on prednisone–an abolute miracle, for a few weeks now–not exactly what I’d expected, either. That’s one of the (few) benefits of whatever-it-is-I-have and/or prednisone. Caught in the drudgery of 9-5 five days a week, it would take me some digging sometimes to find out how one day was not just like another. Now it’s like a fluorescent tie-dyed shirt: even without my glasses, I can see that neon blob a mile a way.

That’s something, I guess.

I had just started to lose weight, too, and suddenly I’m besought with the eats–I knew it was coming, but I thought I could manage it. The past week? Not so much. But it was expected. Sort of. What wasn’t expected was the inability to handle multiple annoyances at one time, some convergence of trivial things–stupid things that really are so minor–that all swirled around in a centrifuge of rage. That was unexpected. And so, when the Josh Duggar scandal first broke (way, way, way too many links to make it easy), I had already been possessed by this ectoplasmic ghost of rage, like Slimer from Ghostbusters if his molecular construct was composed of acrimony and anger, bitterness and belligerence, just awaiting the moment to pour forth sliming everyone with poison.

This really doesn’t convey the true slime potential of Slimer, but it works.

Somewhere in my gut, I had hellfire and pitchforks, tar and feathers just ready, ready to pounce. A pacifist ‘roid-rager with a cause.

It sounds like a Saturday Night Live skit. Or a Tom Robbins novel.

The problem, at least for me, is that this sort of rage sucks every bit of, well, everything out of me, and leaves me empty. My mind doesn’t work; my body doesn’t work. I can’t put a sentence together, and I can only drag my feet, too exhausted to even pick them up to walk properly. I am absolutely useless and limp. Flaccid, even.

I know there’s a penis joke there somewhere.

And then there’s the anger hangover. Complete with headache and nausea and all. The uselessness lasts for hours, sometimes even days. Sometimes it’s only when I’m in the midst of this post-rage-ejaculation that I realize how good I have it, hangover and all. Once upon a time, this was a daily occurrence. Once upon a time, my life was brief spans between outbursts. After the sliming, after the hangover comes a clarity of thought I haven’t quite nailed down at any other time.
Continue reading ‘Roid Rage and Rational Musing →

Journey

40 Virgins and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

February 2, 2008 N J Ray 2 Comments

So I’m working on a list of demands. He has the kitty refugee hostages, and I’m making the demands.

Damn skippy.

It’s nothing fun, just the usual: shot record, copy of medical record, receipts, and oh, what-do-you-call-that-never-call-me-again-under-penalty-of-death thing? I want one of those, too. Actually, I want a couple of those.

Just in case the first one fails. Because it will, I’m sure. Eventually.

I’m dreading this confrontation. I’m dreading it so much that I may have made myself sick over it. Probably not, but I do have a headache that even now, is doing something inside my skull that is very,very,very reminiscent of a demolition crew.

Continue reading 40 Virgins and a Partridge in a Pear Tree →

Lyrical Fool