My aim is true
–Elvis Costello
My aim is askew
–me
We all know people like me. The ones who don’t ever quite know what to say. The ones who try not to say anything, because when we do it is sure to be all wrong. Those ones. I’ve already confessed to being socially awkward beyond belief. Not good at small talk. Let’s just put it that way. It sounds better than calling myself a numb-mouthed freak. Oh, I’m not supposed to talk trash about myself. Sorry. Self, you’re a fucking freak of nature, and I mean that in a good way.
Of course, not saying anything comes with issues of its own, but talking? Talking is hard. It’s a good thing that I am not too prone to fighting, because when I am angry I am not the nicest person on the planet. Even when I don’t mean to be. I don’t get really angry very often, and I like to think it’s usually more or less deserved. There are some victims of my ire who would undoubtedly dispute that, but clearly they did SOMETHING to set me off, right?
Which is not to say that I am not wrong sometimes. I think I can admit it, most of the time.
Can I? Who have I been really mad at lately who can vouch for me?
The upside is that in person I find it pretty difficult to stay mad at someone I care about, especially once a situation I am upset about is clarified. In a text/email situation it is much more fraught. At work I have taught myself to sit on any email that I write when I am at all annoyed until I can look at it calmly. At home…well…I’ll just keep getting more and more angry while I am trying not to write anything. I’ll just fire off what I think is a perfectly calm and rational email only to re-read it later and discover that somehow I turned into the literary equivalent of Charles Manson.
I’m a messaging mass murderer.
What’s worse, I can’t even blame the heat of passion. At work? Oh, I’ll get mad and ranty, but it’s not like I’m all that emotionally invested in work. It’s work. They pay me to do a job. It’d be nice if all of the other people being paid to do jobs would do them properly, but how mad can I really get? Not very.
When I really care about something or someone the angrier I get, the colder I get. I get freezing cold mad. Freezing cold mad is not a good thing. When I write angry, I can’t say that I was carried away and didn’t mean it. When I write angry, I am very focused and very calm. If only I could be that focused all the time without the cold angry part. When I write angry, I mean every word I say. I want the person I am mad at to be as wounded as I am. I’m guessing that it shows.
My aim is true enough to hit the target. Askew enough to only wound the people I love the most. I don’t even pick up a weapon unless I love you. How messed up is that?
I wish I could be as eloquent about everything as I am about being angry. I come up with some really good lines when I am writing angry. Lines which I can never use again. It sucks.
Right, yeah. For the person on the other end of the message it maybe sucks, too. That’s OK, though. I’m mad at them. Right? Shit. No?
The worst thing about being freezing cold mad is that it doesn’t burn off quickly the way a hot anger does. A freezing cold rage will hang around. It has to be thawed out. Most people want nothing to do with that process.
Freezing cold mad has made me stop talking to people I love. For years. When you have two people who are equally emotionally moronic, it is not a good combination in a fight. I’ve…mostly…gotten over putting people in the deep freeze like that, but it is a response that I always have to sort of look out for in myself.
Not that I won’t stop talking to people who are toxic to me in some way, but that’s a different thing. Also hard. So hard.
In my next life, I’m coming back as one of those light-hearted charming rogues who don’t give a shit about anything but themselves.
Oh. Right.
I don’t believe in reincarnation.
Damn.
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