I'll Meet Your Anger Management And Raise You One Dropkick To The Face!

Gather round folkies, and I'll fill you in on a little something about myself that you might not know just from reading my random blogging.
Sometimes, I get angry (okay at least 3 times a week on average). When I say angry I'm not talking about muttering to myself and sulking off into a corner to hold imaginary "I would have said THAT" conversations". I'm talking about honk my horn, wave my fist, I would stomp your guts in if I could, angry.
This is something that has been cultivating since our move to a suburban area where I'm constantly assaulted with mind blowing feats of inconsideration and stupidity, including the harassment letter we received a few weeks ago for having a few sprigs of grass (A.K.A "weeds"" during a particularly busy work week from our lovely neighborhood Nazi's association. You can rest assured that I took no prisoners in my flower bed that day and I murdered those grass sprigs weeds without mercy (imagine a growling lunatic wielding a trowel and you would have a pretty accurate image of yours truly that day)



I know that anger is bad. I know that it hurts me a thousand times more than it hurts the people or things that my anger is targeted towards. I know a life lived with minimal anger is a better life, a more peaceful, centered, joyful life. Up until now, I've been pretty slow to "rile" as we call it here in the South. I have a family tree full of Irish hot heads who didn't know when enough was enough and a family cemetery full of people who died much too young from heart attacks (our low stupidity tolerance is obviously genetic) so I'm willing to work on finding my chi, my zen, my nirvana so that I don't croak by the age of 40.
I vent. I steam. I froth at the mouth when I am passed on the median of the road by someone who is obviously running late for their daily douching (I'm sure you could call ahead, bitchy soccer mom, and they'll watch the extra 2 minutes you gain by passing me illegally). Or if someone gives their cashier at the grocery a hard time for not reading their mind and using the coupons they still have stuffed into their grubby, obviously "malnourished" palms.
Today I'm going to try get in touch with the calmer me, the me before I was poisoned by suburbia's "fast this" "hurry that" "drink the Koooool Aid Critty" "We secretly worship Satan" mentality.
Yoda said it best and since I'm a nerd for even referring to Yoda at all, I'll go the distance and actually quote him just to display how desperately geeky I am..."Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."
You know, for a little green dude living in the a sewer swamp, he was pretty spot on.