hateful, angry words
on the innocent.
a bitter pill
to be imbibed
-I love my Dad; I really do. Heck, I know I'm lucky I even have a Dad! But there are days when he can just be too much. Today was one of them. My point is, if he's in a funk, he doesn't include others who have nothing to do with it into that funk. Other people don't have to feel miserable, don't have to be stressed, just because he is. It's not that I don't care, but I figure, why stress over something unavoidable (like traffic)? And cursing the air blue, thickening the air with tension, won't clear the traffic up. Nor is the traffic jam MY fault. Hello?!
So I cried--out of indignation, out of outrage, out of incredulity, out of hurt. And unlike others who feel relieved after a crying jag, I just felt funky, wretched and plain exhausted--exactly why I hate it when I cry (which consequently isn't often). I cried in the car. I cried again when I spoke to my Mom in the English Department (it's a good thing it was a Tuesday: hardly anyone save Ate Jo and Ate Rack...(and Dr. Vilches in her office) were there! Ohmigoodness, how mortifying! But shit happens. So I just plunged myself into work. Later, even my grandma called to commiserate! (I assure you, this is real life!) She told me just to bless the offender in my mind. How Christian. Ah well. ;) So there. I just followed Mom's advice, which was to just "offer it to God as my good deed for the day." Well, so I didn't follow it as she said it, but as the poem above says, I [am just to] swallow the bitter pill. I listened to my music, took a short nap, and breathed it all OUT.
As I said, shit happens. But we get up and move on. And yoga has helped me so much to deal with such events. I just breathe a bit and try to move past it. How I wish my Dad could imbibe even a little of that.