3 is odd as I have spent a lot of life coaching myself to not feel anger for fear I inherited the flaw of hanging on to it too long and letting it consume me. I watched my Mom carry that shit around like an ugly Louis Vuitton full of bricks for years. No thanks. I don't say things I don't mean. I don't say things I can never take back. I don't say things to purposely hurt someone. I think it's all very unhealthy and it never makes me feel good. In fact, it makes me feel like shit when I'm mean. And my rule of thumb in most situations is I'd rather eat shit than feel like it. Put a little lemon and honey on there and it's delicious.
But I find myself wishing it would come. I feel like anger would feel a lot better than whatever this feeling is. Like, I want to wake up and just lunge for a hammer and start plunging it into pictures and walls. When roomie gets up all "what the fuck!?" I can be like "I'm here! Anger stage of grief, dude!" and he'll brighten with "Awesome, let me go get the blow torch and some beers!". But nope. No. Uh uh. Nope. I'm not there. I'm still bouncing around in all mixture of all the others, slinking around my house with a cocktail and Bruno Mars blasting, looking at light patterns on the wall like a crazy person.
It would be so unbelievably rad to just start calling people up and telling them off, exposing their weaknesses, throwing them and everyone they know under every bus available in the area. Just a real mean spree. Like the movie Natural Born Killers, but I act alone and instead of all the death it's just saying rude shit and holding up mirrors of hypocrisy and truth to their faces. If it were in person, I'd steal whatever food or drink they had in their hand, take a bite or sip, and hand it back to them. Then wipe my mouth with the back of my forearm reeeeal slow. They'd just stand there, mouth open, a single tear running down their cheek, wondering what they ever knew about life before this moment.
And see? I can't even stay angry in a blog. I end up making jokes. So.... that stage isn't coming any time soon. Half of them won't ever arrive. I'll just stay miserably positive, steadfast, hopeful and maintain a bitchin amount of just the right buzz as I want to keep my level of alcoholism at "functioning". In fact, it's time to go buy a new 24 pack and 2 bottles of red. I've emptied this house. But I'm going to tan first because nobody likes a pale drunk.
Maybe I'll leave my sunglasses on and scowl at the check out girl. Just for shits and gigs.
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