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3. Bite down.
Bite down.
Bite down and swallow.
Swallow these words. My head is exploding but I have to swallow these words. Words that are loaded artillery. I’m pissed off. So what? Think pip.
“Think it through,” the ghost of dad is having to shout to be heard over my own Rant. And I must Rant. But I hoofed it out of the front line at work and refused to give any of those useless people one measly syllable – much less a Rant. So I walked. Miles. Boots are good for pissed off walking. The striking of the heal against pavement, a back beat for a confrontation – even if it is only heard by me and concrete. So you, reader. Are you one of these people who says more than you can count, “Wait just a minute. What did I do to deserve that reaction?”
Now either you are totally blameless and are just a doormat so you better stop letting people dump on you so you won’t drag everybody else you can grab with you on your way into hell. OR… You refuse to see your fingerprints at the scene of the confrontational crime – oh, but they are there. I have boot prints all over that fucking crime so I fucked off. I tried to reason with one of the inflamed combatants, the one I know better. And it was useless. Ridiculous. What a waste of life blood. They could only see what they want to see in order to justify their over-the-top-of-Kilimanjaro-reaction. Bu
“Beer?” A voice from the past. I’m still walking hard. I head for the park while sucking on a sour apple Dum-Dum. I stare into some man-made body of water they call a pond. A few years ago I was this worked-up over some other retched, needless conversation that didn’t have to happen. But then, I was hacking out a livid response on my laptop lover to some pathetic pustule who I no longer have communication with.
Dad sat on the arm of the chair, “Seems to me pips, you deserve an end to what looks like a very rough day. Beer?”
He passed me one. It stayed in mid-air for an undetermined amount of time. My hands were still in battle-stance on my laptop weapon but my head was pounding. “Fuck it.” I took the Becks, pushing my chair away from my computer station. He waited. I took a sip, letting it slide through my boiling blood.
“There you are,” he smiled raising his beer.
I tapped his can. “What is that supposed to mean?” I was irritable.
“You’re back from Anger Nebula 3982.”
“Well, I wasn’t alone there Dad, just in case you were wondering.”
“No, I know you weren’t alone there pips. Anger Nebula 3982 has a dense population and it gets more and more congested there everyday. Solid citizens who consider themselves on most days to be logical - now seem to immigrate there before they even realize that they are trapped behind the borders of Anger Nebula 3982 with no way out.”
“How Dad? How does a simple disagreement amongst, well, maybe not best friends - but people you would consider on the same team I guess, how does something so stupid become a battle of such intensity - slinging pistachio nuts all over Mom’s kitchen, screaming to yourself that you hate that fucking-cock-dick-motherfucker and would like to serve this useless piece of plasma to Sigourney Weaver’s favorite alien?”
“Have another sip pips. Have you ever considered becoming a maid for that super-model who seems to need Less Anger, More Smile in her life? If so, beware of flying phones.”
“Don’t make me laugh Dad, it will really piss me off.”
“You asked me a really important question pip and it deserves a well thought out response.”
“What did I ask you anyway? I forgot.”
“How does a simple disagreement turn into a ruthless battle.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Well in order for a resolve to occur, one of the participants has to pull themselves out of Anger’s grip.”
“But I couldn’t stop Dad.”
“No. Anger can be extremely convincing. And when a person is convinced that they are justified in their outrage, then Anger’s seduction has only just begun.”
“Whoa. Heavy duty. She sounds pretty impossible to defeat – but I wonder if I…”
“She is. But only if you try to outfight her. In any fight she will consume those who believe they can flirt with Anger herself but soon they will become frenzied and out of control.”
“Bummer.”
“But you can use your wits you know pip. Wits are the best weapon in war. Don’t outfight her, outsmart her.”
“Outsmart her?”
By then I had finished my nice cold beer…
(To be continued…)
