"If I'm not yelling, I don't care"
I am going to spend the next few days, into the weekend, making two lists: I'm Yelling & I'm Not Yelling.
I am not a yeller, but I am a very direct speaker, especially when angry, and cannot suffer a mealy mouth or passive aggressive side talker. I understand that being direct can be unnerving, to some. Am I saying I'm right? No. Can I listen to other voices than my own? Of course.
But that process is circular, oblique, rhomboid, spins, contorts, and stretches to cover every angle and goes something like this: the hell is she talking about? she seriously said that? booolllshittttt!!! I am never speaking to her or anyone who knows her ever again and I mean it and the second I get home I am googling voodoo doll, why would she say that? is she right? Oh man! where's the nearest freaking Baskin Robbins?, you know, she's so pedestrian, her favorite flavor is probably vanilla, hmmm, you know, I wonder if I really do that, yes, it must be true, I really really really do that, ohmygod, how can I go on in this world under the burden of my immeaurable ineptitude? hey, wait a damn minute, I remember when SHE did this and this and then THAT! Next time I see her I am so bringing all of that up and we'll see how she likes 'dem apples, Okay, okay, so am I ten? I need a two hour soak in the tub, that will fix it and I'll read O Magazine and I'm certain Oprah will have the answer, and if she doesn't, I'll google Dr. Phil, or even better, do a tarot reading! You know what? I don't care, seriously I don't care at all, it's all so, like, nothing, I mean, in the end will it really matter, when I'm seriously rich and famous and the toast of the town and sitting on Oprah's couch humbly detailing how I ended world hunger, saved the world from nuclear holocaust, all while working a full-time job, writing three novels, cooking gourmet meals every night, loved by all except her, well, will I care about her and her little ol' whiny self? No. Stop with the hyperbole! You need a reality check. I bet it's all my fault. I need to get into therapy. Maybe get another degree. I definitely need to do more service, totally need to volunteer. Maybe I should start believing in religion, even. Okay, now that's too far, but you know, I'll make a list. Is it her fault? It is my fault? Yes. No. YESSSSSS!!! NOOOOOO!!! the hell is she talking about...
What I've decided is that I've been given an opportunity to sort out who I really am, what I really care about, what I will and will not abide.
The yelling is figurative. It's my task to decide what is worth caring deeply about, and what is not. I've made a mental list and it's surprising just how accurate my mantra is. The things I'm not willing to argue, discuss, or fight for, I do not care about. At all.
Although I will not be posting my "yelling" lists, I will post my discoveries I unearth along the way.
ROSE IS A ROSE IS A ROSE IS A ROSE" SAPPHÓ !!!
ReplyDeleteSong of the Rose
For Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
Poem by Sappho, Lesbo, Ereso, 640 a.c.circ.
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