Road Rage

[I started writing the following journal entry before I got the delirious-making news about the play. I’m glad to have such a clear-cut way to illustrate – to anyone, but primarily to myself – how my moods swing and why; what pushes the pendulum and some more insight into why it swings the way it does; maybe even why sometimes it’s a counterweight and others it’s a wrecking ball…]

Here’s another thing that weighs heavy on me - the immense anger. Sometimes it’s directed at the specific criminal, sometimes all the people like them, sometimes almost the whole world* - but usually at a select few thousand. I try not to think about it too hard. There are a lot of emotional trailer parks out there in the world, and if I let myself think too long about every possible and probable suffering kid out there it makes me feel utterly hopeless. I have to keep my bearings and look out for the ones around me – as far around me as I can realistically reach. I’m surprised at how far that seems to be - all the while, biting on the anger that’s as natural, real and present as the scars. The scars don’t even really hurt anymore, they’re mostly numb, but the memories, the reminders, the hard cold facts are pretty… instigative. I hate the times when I wonder if I DESERVE to be angry… in fact, I can’t think of many things that can push me over the edge of anger into burning white-hot fury than finding myself wondering if I have the right to feel angry. !@#$ that. I have a few friends and relatives with serious anger issues, worse than my own, in more ways than one. They never make me feel as if my anger (or really, reasons for feeling angry) is insignificant or shallow. Instead, they just make me feel as if someone understands what it’s like to be at that point of the compass. And sometimes they let me attempt to distract them, which often improves my own mood, if not theirs.:(

The shame comes when I do bad things to burn off anger, things that are either bad for my body or soul. I try to balance these things out and keep them to a minimum, but it’s hard. The worst is when I take it out on Chris. Other people have the automatic protection and courtesy provided by my almost phobic reaction to embarrassment. To me, acting like a ‘fishwife’ (griping, bitching, harping, haranguing, etc.) in public is one of the MOST embarrassing things. No one – not even Chris – gets worse than a sharp and serious, but no matter how serious, still CALM (and hopefully un-embarrassing to BOTH of us) dressing down from me in public, even for the worst of crimes. HOWEVER – the privacy of one’s own home is where one lets their hair down, and the one place where I refuse to bottle up ANYTHING. Like I’ve said before, poor Chris. He sees me with my hair down a lot.

I’m beginning to really think about this whole relationship between me and my brain and this keyboard and you. Yesterday while I was doing chores, I kept thinking about what I was writing here about feeling so pent up and frustrated about all the worlds’ problems and my own puny ones too, and what it does to me and WHY I need to share this; then my mind shifted to yesterday’s blog and there was no question as to why I would want or need to share good, happy news. Ah, revelation!

I admit, there’s a part of me that always feels guilty sharing good news too (Will this depress people who aren’t having good news right now? Will people think I am bragging? How noticeable is it that my moods change drastically, day-to-day, hour-to-hour? Does anyone care? Do I deserve this goodness? Will I fail? Etc.! YUCK! :). But there is that part of me again, the one who remembers when the news was NOT good, was never good, and who now says: You do your part to help shoulder the burden, you try to keep on top of things and be aware of others, you try make the world a better place. You work hard for your bon-bons, why should you not enjoy them? One of my bon-bons is the allowance and assistance that comes from writing and reading and hearing from you and thinking and reading and writing some more. It allows me to see the shape of my life more objectively, more realistically. What a gift! I also really thought about (during my sink-thinking) why I have fallen in so love with theater.

Most of it is obvious. I’m a freakishly skilled creative person who is compelled to both stay busy and volunteer. In my opinion, every theater has to have at least 5 of these to stay alive. I have a flair for the dramatic, love to play dress up and specialize in special effects, props, set design, costume design, makeup and hair. I can sing and dance if I have to, and I have good timing, physically and comedy-wise. I can write fairly realistic dialogue, I am a good character actor, I learn lines pretty quickly, I take direction well, and I am a decent (if too specific and cheesy) director. I’m also trained to teach stage combat and specialize in wench-fighting. And I loved and did ALL of this before I ever auditioned for my first play. I just didn’t know what I was training for those first 30 years.

Then there’s the Freudian side of it. (I especially like it when the sink-thinking takes this kind of direction. It’s helpful to me. It’s like tightening a rope when you’re sailing in hard wind…). You all know my general past. Here I am, presenting myself to be chosen for my skill, talent, beauty, height, accent, attitude, wardrobe, whatever… then, IF chosen to have to live up to that role, and all those expectations. Why would you do that to yourself? Those of you who do it know why. Because if you can do it, and if you get chosen and if you pull it off, you get so much love and appreciation and respect for doing something that you and everybody else knows is not easy and making it look easy and enjoying it all the while. it feels so good. The only thing that’s better than that in that whole arena is the joy of helping others (and with a cast of 40 or more, that is a lot of joy!) get that same exact feeling. Woohoo! Volunteer for your local little theater! Audition at least once! Paint bellies in South Pacific! Treat yourself to a helping of Fantasy-filled Freudian Fabulousness. It’s good for the soul, it’s good for the community.

Ok, almost enough. Just one more thing.
I’d like to thank Mr. Henry Rollins for the third time. We found a copy of the 2nd season of his IFC show on dvd at a coooooool-ass yard sale (FOR A BUCK!) and have been enjoying it immensely. I know some of you don’t like him, and all of you are sick of hearing how much I do and the original reason why, but he has affected my personal motivation for almost 25 years now, and in a good way. God knows I’ve needed it from every possible quarter. His spoken word stuff is brave and silly and smart and raw and filled with real emotion. He writes a lot and he seems to need to as well. He clearly needs to share and a lot of people clearly agree that he has something to say and he does it in an entertaining way. He is fierce and feisty (and also dead!@#$sexy in my humble opinion***) and he has worked hard to earn his soapbox. His rantings and kudos and sarcastic, funny opinions on his show make me feel so good. He reminds me a lot of George Carlin in his opinions and ideals, a cross between George Carlin and Danzig. (Moosh. The man of my dreams. :) All this schoolgirlishness and fun aside****, his writing and ranting and speaking up and digging in have been part of the encouragement for me to write and to speak up. Just like y'all. Thank you.

-s

*very seldom do I get mad at babies or animals for anything.
***not that that really matters, but it is nice when it’s part of the deal, is it not?
****though I’m very glad I can still feel this way about things and people. I’d die without my passions and crushes. Carpe Vini Diesel!