Anger Management

Yesterday—when everything seems to happen—I was at my summer professional development Day 1. The group was encouraged to share, following a positive question, what really makes us angry. I honestly couldn’t identify with anything that made me angry at that time. Nothing. I drew a complete blank. Needless to say, there are things in the world & in my Life that make me angry but I couldn’t connect with those things yesterday. Why? Cuz I ain’t angry ‘bout that shit no more. I spent a great deal of this past school year, specifically the last 6 weeks, being angry. My face, according to lore, told the story of my dissatisfaction on a bullhorn.

When the school year ended I left those disrespectful arse kids behind, the ridiculous uncertainty, the disrespectful &/or neglectful parents of those disrespectful arse kids, annoying adults, paychecks that looked slimmer despite my raise, living in total disarray, & a host of other negatives behind AS SOON as school ended for me. In Venezuela, in all it’s beautifully dirty splendor, I reconnected with just how sweet my own Life is & shook the last vestiges of silent negativity that was lurking in corners.

Comparatively speaking, I ain’t got a care in the world. I have toilet paper to waste (which I don’t), hot water ALL’A’TIME, access to fresh foods, emissions testing, body sized towels, sheets that do more than tattoo my mattress, & a mattress made of butterfly wings & good thoughts. I am not 19 living in a village where there’s nothing else for me to do except what’s expected of me as a girl. I don’t have to ride my WHOLE family between my husband & I on a mo-ped. I have more than 4 options of study at colleges & universities of my choice. I am not fighting to be recognized as what I am or convincing others to proudly announce their ethnicity (before getting people to have it proudly wrapped into their identities.) I know the difference between salad & #coldslaw cole slaw & I’m not forced to accept the latter AS the former. I have running water & connected pipes. I have a job. That I love even when I don't.

This is NOT to say that life in Venezuela is tragic (except that emissions business) but that I don’t have to worry about the basics as much. I can breathe without consideration at home. I can eat at a restaurant & not have my life expectancy fried within an inch of flatlining. So, mad? No, Ma’ams, I cannot identify with this emotion you speak of.

I often feel ridiculous in these professional developments. The facilitators’ behavior feels…cultish & makes me leery. I keep waiting for someone to break out a banjo & some congos & make us sing rounds of Cumbaya over tofu chips & sharing deodorant crystals. The activities frequently fall way short of making me feel connected to the higher purpose & the greater good. All I ever walk away with is the reminder not to embarrass the shit out of my own students in this manner, forcing them to begin their days with improvisational nitwittery that leaves me feeling curmudgeonly first thing in the morning. A good use of my time? Depends on how you see things. I’m trying to be the glass is half full person but I’m strongly questioning “full of what?” Me thinks they drink.

No matter. I appreciated being able to identify that I have no anger in my heart right now. I’m not going to waste time complaining about things I don’t have to deal with RIGHT NOW with people I already know deal with the same things. Redundant much? On top of NOT being angry, my listening skills put me on to a something called Frugalista. I even excused myself to go text myself the name on the phone I’m not supposed to touch while fully connecting to the activities that make me surly. Then a magical thing happened. So, I told you my Life is charmed, right? All set to go home & find this online haven that put the woman who told me about it into the nicest pin striped denim, I took a detour to go buy things to refresh the look of my bathroom. On the way there, sitting at a light, what do I see? THE STORE CALLED FRUGALISTA!! Did I pull all the way over right away? Yup! & even considered an illegal parking space & just using my hazards. Cops all over made me reconsider. While reconsidering, a spot opened up for pay. Fine… I pulled into the space, behind a woman leaving. What happened then? The Parking Gawds smiled down on me & the lady leaving walked her remaining parking time over to me. AN EFFIN HOUR for $FREE.99. I went inside & discovered that Frugalista is a consignment shop. 2 CUTE dresses for $34.

Again I say, Ma’ams…I don’t know this anger you speak of. I’m unfamiliar right now. It seems to have fallen from my memory. I’m sure, if given an opportunity, I can connect with it; perhaps I’ll be able to the more of these TURRBLE morning activities you have designed for me. But I don’t know. If not that, then maybe the songs we have to sing at the end of each day. It’s insulting enough that you make me journal on wide ruled paper AND THEN you want me to sing corny songs with you too? If it's EVER Cumbaya, I'm walking out & not returning. EFF your credits. You ask too much of me, Ma’ams, too much indeed.

Watch me move (thankfully).