Anger, thy name is Woman

I've been feeling angry lately. This weekend, while running errands downtown, I was nearly bowled over by a feeling of hate for the people around me. I hated the crowds, I hated the tourists, I hated the consumers with their shopping bags, I hated the women in their coordinating outfits, I hated all the couples canoodling together. I was just pissed off and feeling out of place.

Which is weird, because I'm usually the most patient and accepting person. But the last few days, oh the last few days everything just has me seething.

And there's not really a reason for it, or at least not one specific reason. An accumulation of discontentments, perhaps.

One thing is being angry (again!) at my Dad, and not saying anything to him about it because I have the misguided notion that being angry has no productive point to it. And also, because I have my reputation as the good, happy child to uphold (I'm the middle child, can you tell?).

One thing is that I'm bored spitless at my job but am too insecure and lazy to look for something different.

One thing is that I've been struggling with the customer service, hand-holding nature of said job and I've caught myself being ungenerous and curt to clients lately.

One thing is feeling judged on my female-ness lately. (Last week, at lunch with co-workers, my female colleagues were talking about their morning rituals. They all mentioned that they put on body lotion every day, religiously. When I mentioned that I never use lotion, they all looked at me with stupefaction, as if I'd broken some cardinal rule of womanhood: "thou must slather thyself with cream to stave off dryness and wrinkles upon pain of eternal damnation." Then, we were talking about our bathing habits -- whether we bathe in the mornings or evenings -- and I mentioned that I sometimes I go a few days without washing my hair or taking a shower, and again the cries of "what?!" and "why would you do that!?" rang loud above the lunchtime chatter. Likewise, last week I wore makeup for two days in a row and everyone exclaimed over it as if it were an historic event. Finally, this morning I brought in some homemade fudge cookies I'd made. Admittedly, they are a bit misshapen because I used too much batter for each cookie, but my co-workers went on and on about how weird they looked, teasing me about my cooking skills. Now, I open myself up for this teasing because I'm generally good-natured about my own failings and because I'm usually the first one to make fun of myself, but, oh!, I was pissed off this morning, feeling like I was going to cry over some damn cookies (so, to show them up I ended up eating like 12 of the cookies myself. Take that!))

So I think what this boils down to is a sense of being misunderstood, of being an outsider, a square peg for a round hole, for which I can only blame myself. After all, if I don't make an effort to speak up, then how are others supposed to know how I feel? Der.

And I'm sure getting back into a regular exercise routine would help, but I'm angry about that too because all I want to do when I come home is nap and nap and nap.

I decided to make a Gratitude list to help dispel some of this negativity.

I'm grateful for …

… my workhorse of a bicycle, and the coordinated pumping of my heart and lungs and legs and breath when I ride it

… the evolving understanding of myself provided by athletic pursuits, including the slow realization that I have a bonafide adventurous streak

… my love of water and the fun of playing in rivers and lakes

… my sweet and loving and wide-eyed niece and nephew

… sunshine and heat

… salsa music and afro/cuban/brazillian percussion rhythms

… a relative degree of financial security

… the middle-class luxury of having petty concerns

… a clean kitchen

… a peaceful apartment and old pine floors that glow in the late afternoon sun

… my mother and her blue eyes, which are exactly like my own, eyes which gently tell me she understands and accepts me

…. a branch library I can walk to and a desk clerk who recognizes me and will check the hold shelf without my asking to see if any new books have arrived for me

… my friend Jennibear in Dallas who listens to me complain and will play a knock-down, drag-out game of Scrabble with me whenever I visit

… blue gel pens

… a tall glass of water drained in a few, long swallows

… a gin and tonic with lime

…. bites of perfectly ripe cantaloupe

…. a purring kitty sleeping on my chest, her head tucked under my chin