Everything came to a point today when I told Giuliana Rancic that her tweet was dumb and she sounded shallow. Sure, I said it differently, but that’s what I was feeling when she told her 2,152,611 followers to compliment people today and then only gave examples that related to appearance.
I’m not sure why I even gave it a second thought but before I knew it- I was steaming about it. I promptly replied that it sounded like a great idea but complimenting someone on something besides their appearance might make it even better. And then I thought about it all day. Like a crazy person.
A crazy person who knows that even her angriest tweet comes across like a thumbs up and a hug.
I’m not sure if it’s how I was raised or because I’m a teacher who is forced to water down upset feelings (after all, 8 year olds have tender hearts) but I’ve never really been good about talking about being angry. Or communicating that I AM angry. Even my tweet to Giuliana, that I thought was both vicious and cutthroat came off as happy as two baby kittens holding hands and wearing tiaras. Or maybe it’s because I’m 5″2 with blonde hair and a high voice and I don’t come off as intimidating- or capable of creating a rage worthy of noting. Whatever the reason, I’ve never been the teacher people thought was strict, I’ve never been the person others have feared or have imagined being angry enough to throw a drink in someones face.
But sometimes I get angry.
When you embarrass the trainee at the drugstore by complaining how long she’s taking, I get angry. When you refuse to acknowledge my depression or ask about my life during a 3 hour conversation, I’m angry. When you drive 10 mph in a 70 mph zone and are under the age of 60, I’m angry. When you show up late without apology, when you act like I’m incapable, when you believe global warming is a myth created by Al Gore to sell dvds, I get angry. When you purposely leave people out to make yourself feel more included, I get angry (and sad for you because let’s face it- that’s pathetic). When you don’t send your child to school with a lunch, I get angry. When you blame their inability to learn on me, I get irate. When you refuse to recycle, think slurs are appropriate slang, constantly whine about your life without thinking about making a change, I get angry. When you complain about not being in touch but don’t pick up the phone, I get angry. When you continue to buy beauty magazines when you know they make you feel horrible, I get angry. When the only time you email is when you need something I can give, I get angry. And hurt.
And I guess that’s what anger is. Hurt feelings combined with adrenaline. Sadness, confusion or depression on steroids and looking for action. When I’m solely sad, I meltdown- slowly. I crumble into a heap of unwashed hair and dirty clothes. Used kleenex and achy limbs. But when I’m hurt or offended and allow anger to find a way to seep in- I take action. I scrub, I clean, I run, I write… I tweet. I will always prefer anger to sadness- there’s always something to show for my feelings. A clean bathroom, a new blog post, another celebrity who will never want to meet me.
What was I angry about this morning when Giuliana sent out her innocent tweet to the world? Had someone belittled my feelings or downplayed my depression? Had I drove to work behind a car incapable of signalling? Had I got a nasty email complaining about my blog or a text from a friend to uninvolved to ever call? No. None of that happened. I got angry today because I wanted to. I felt like being angry. And being angry felt good. Maybe that’s wrong to say, maybe that’s something that will never sound right once it’s said out loud but sometimes just being pissed off just because you are human and can do WHATEVER YOU WANT feels like the right choice, bystanders be damned.
So I guess I owe Giuliana an apology.
At least my bathroom is clean.
*Maybe it’s a Canadian thing but I feel like I need to add in here that I actually adore Giuliana (even if I can never spell her name correctly) and her reality show is on my top three list of FAVOURITE REALITY PROGRAMS. And if you know how much I love my Housewives, you know that’s saying something.