the physical effect on the emotional

been punchy, in more ways than one, i.e., the hitting kind and the bizarro brain kind. I attribute most of it to my new, nicotine free relationship to sugar, but I think there is more going on. I've had this self reflective paradox of feeling like I'm being bratty, or wanting to say bratty things, but then it strikes me that I DONT THINK IM BRATTY but that OTHERS would define my actions as such (As in: I would never fucking call anything bratty because that word makes me want to throw up in my mouth a LOT and instantly calls to mind a mental image of a super smarmy 13 year old) but others would probably mistake my "stating of an opinion" for being "a brat". Or a bitch. I could actually deal better with bitch.

The paradox is that I get mad enough to want to say something, and then realize the universal eye roll and dismissive tone, the "you're being a brat" tone, so I shut up (the fucking shame cycle, oh sneaky sneaky reinforcement of the status quo, there you are again!) And then, I get even more mad that I let myself be shamed into being silent. Because I should know better (see, look how it pops up, even here..) but more importantly, because there isn't anything shameful about being mad and saying so.

I had a interesting conversation with tanya late the other night about the few people we know in our lives who've never been ANGRY, and as such, there is this gap in our ability to connect to them. And I mean angry in a variety of ways, in the "if you're not angry you're not paying attention" way, and in the "passionate" way and in the plain old fashioned "I am rooting tooting mad" way. I really despise the notion that people should strive towards calm, or an incessant inner peace, that anger is some how an intrinsically bad thing- mainly because while I am a primarily self identified happy person, I am not a calm person, and I can be an ANGRY person, and I am really okay with that, thanks. And it makes me wonder what it must be like, to never have anything make you ANGRY.

On one hand, I think, how lucky. On the other, I think, how sad.

I'm not sure where to go with that, only that it tied in with a train of thought I've mulled over for years but weirdly popped back up in an unlikely place recently: the notion (especially historically for women) that having feelings is some how inappropriate or unusual or inconvenient. This is illustrated most for me (and I've read some lit about this too, which was really surprising and completely touchingly reaffirming) when people tell me, seriously, to calm down. I hate being told to calm down with this overwhelmingly intense level of hostility.

But all of this requires more research and reflection. The root of it, most likely, is that I feel I've let things slide, let all those things which truly matter go astray for a really long time. I've felt dismissed and adrift and been talked down to and talked over and unchallenged and the worst part is my level of consent in all of it. Totally gross. Meditation upon remedies begins tomorrow.