Anger

Yesterday and tonight, I find myself being angry at times. It's okay to be angry-sometimes. When I'm angry, I'd rather not talk to anyone, because I might be mean, and if I'm mean--it's unfair. I've learned and I'm still learning to stay quiet and away from people when I'm angry, because I've lost relationships, caused by an angry rant for, which I regret later. I don't flip the bird (anymore) to the people who give me dirty looks at my impeccable driving--because I know people might have guns. My kids are exempt, (from my anger) for whatever reason, I'm able to do things to vent my frustrations so I can be the mother they need--like I'll mow the lawn, clean, or write. What makes me angry? I'm not quite sure--but the probable cause, this very minute (and last night), is the fruit wall paper hanging on the walls in my kitchen and the ants who found their way into my house, Really, nothing dramatic--or dramatic, probably dramatic. I could take the wall paper down, but I know we are going to remodel at some point, so the thought of spending time taking down the wall paper, just to have the walls ripped apart--seems like a waste of time. Like, being mad at walls is a waste of time. Some people say (people are probably the re-posted quotes seen on facebook) that being angry is a reflection of being hurt, but, I have to say that sometimes (most) people are just angry for a minute or two and then they get over it (and that's okay!). I'm not yelling at my kitchen walls and pounding on them or anything...I still consider myself sane. And I know, I know I'm lucky to have a home and all that..yada yada yada.

Today, I told Jesse he should become an electrician. If he was an electrician, like my dad, he could be home every night. I also told my brother he should become an electrician today (via text message) and my brother asked, why, and then told me he hates electricity. So, I asked my brother if that means he likes to live by the light of a candle. I thought they (my husband and brother) could start up a company together--I thought I was on to something, but all it got me was an image of my brother in the pre-electric era.

I read a lot of books. I read at night, before I go to bed. I have to have a book in my night stand to start after I finish the book I'm currently reading--or I get angry--again, until I get a new book. Reading gives me ideas. The last book I read was about a man named Judd. Judd's father died right after Judd caught his wife cheating on him with his boss. Judd had to go to his childhood home, and spend seven days with his siblings (who all hate each other) and his mother. Judd's mother said that it was Judd's father's dying wish that their family sit Shiva (Shiva is a Jewish tradition to sit for seven days in small chairs together as a family to mourn the death of the departed, while all sorts of people deliver food and their condolences to their home) The family sits side by side and gets in fight after fight. While sitting Shiva Judd learns that his cheating wife is pregnant, with his baby--the man she cheated on Judd with is sterile. On the last day of Shiva, Judd learns that his mother is a lesbian and that she lied to her children about their father's dying wish of the family sitting Shiva, so they would stay with her for the week. It's a funny book. I guess this book taught me about Jewish traditions/religion. And made me wonder how I would react to such a strange array of travesties and turn of events. I don't think I would handle myself well at all--I'd probably be like Judd and hide out during Temple, in one of  the Temple Israel Hebrew School's classrooms, smoking a joint--and like what happened to Judd, the firm alarm would go off and the sprinklers would turn on. People who know me well, know that would be my kind of luck. However, this book gave me the idea that maybe my brother secretly hates me, and that possibly my mother is a lesbian....just kidding. Seriously, I'm joking.