Sometimes you just get angry. Maybe it’s a specific thing that triggers it off and that’s all you can focus on; other times it could be a general annoyance with the small things that all mould together and form a great big mouldy hairy jelly-type creature with a really annoying facial expression that constantly taps you on your shoulder looking for attention – until you turn around like a stressed parent driving a packed car and scream “WHAAAAT!!! WHAT DO YOU WANT???!!!!” Whichever way The Angry arrives, it’s here and it wants to tell you a bedtime story…
As much as people pontificate about how you need to let anger go, because it consumes you, and does nobody any good in the long run, those of you who are honest enough will admit that when you’re properly immersed in The Angry, it feels fucking fantastic. Not the situation that caused it, just the sheer base level of experiencing the emotion – it’s great. The adrenalin, the shaking, the rush of self-righteousness that flows through your veins, the motivation to express your rage in the most public way possible, consequences bedamned – there’s something very liberating about pure unadulterated anger.
When you’re enraged, food tastes better. Mostly because whatever you’re eating has been infused with righteous indignation, and it’s better than gravy. It also has the added talent of suffocating all those other residual icky feelings that tag along with anger for the laugh; regret, remorse, sadness, resignation. Which is great, because Lord knows, there’ll be time enough for them later…they’re the unwanted overstaying relatives who won’t move out of your front yard without the threat of a power-hose.
I reckon anger and rage are the ice cream you get to eat before you get a jab at the doctor’s…something sweet before the shit REALLY hits the fan and you have to go back to being a productive member of society and respond in a socially acceptable way. Which is why I think people hold onto it for so long. It’s much more fun and free to just be angry for its own sake, and forget what caused it. Frankly, who wants to remember the reasons?
It’s a fascinating thing to watch a child have a full-blown tantrum. I don’t think I’m alone in admitting feeling a little jealous of them sometimes. They have the freedom to throw down and kick and scream and declare to the world that they are less than satisfied with their current predicament. What do us adults have? A screaming fit in the privacy of our own bedroom which won’t disturb anyone, or, worse still, a Facebook status update that says ” Grrr… >:( ” but doesn’t elaborate so that you get 17 comments after it going “Awww wots wrong hun” or “u ok babes?xx” and you can rest assured that you’ve been successful in your passive-aggressive attention seeking strategy. Don’t worry, I’ve also done stuff like that, so I include myself in that annoying habit. I’m trying to break it.
So here I am, writing about anger, putting mine to good use. The causes are insignificant in the long run, but I decided to use mine to clear a bit of writer’s block and blow off some steam. It’s better than the visions of retribution and bloody revenge I had been playing out in my head, that’s for sure. I would have had to hit the 24-hour Tesco and stock up on jumbo-size rubbish bags, twine, bleach and some sharper kitchen knives. All I needed for this outlet was my trusty laptop and a bit of rage-infused insomnia. I enjoyed the anger rush there for a while, now I’ve got to harness it, put it into a folder (yup – nerd all the way) and bring it out when I hit that creative ‘wall’. Until then, I’m off to make a nice strong cup of tea and stick on a bit of Rage Against The Machine to calm my mind. They’ve enough anger going round for everyone anyway.