jersey girl's joyous rant

I had a little joy today. It was simple. Really, really simple.

See, I've been feeling rather, uh, hmmm, angry lately. To say I have a lot of anger and tears bottled up inside me is rather an understatement. Most of the time I can let it out, talk it out, journal it out, walk it out. But lately, well, crap has been pounding me from all sides, it seems. Dunno why. I'm sure it's me, and my perception of things.

I'm being asked, at this late date in my life, to shed my non-confrontational self and step into my truth. Follow me so far? Cool. That's the easy part. The hard part is speaking that truth to people around me. While it may be better to allow some to believe whatever fallacy they want to believe in, it's decidedly not okay to lionize and beatify the perpetrator of the fallacy. My friends experienced geniune pain. I'm from New Jersey, dammit. We're gonna take it outside. Get it? Okay, it's stupid, sophomoric loyalty, but what can I say? This is how I feel. This is my truth.

Another situation involves people nearby, and a long string of lies regarding substance abuse. How one can miss the eye-watering sting of gin on one's spouse's breath, I have no idea, or the clue about getting stinking drunk after one glass of wine. My thought has always been that there's a stash in the garage. And then there's the surreptitious visit to the labs to try to cadge narcotics, prescribed to me for post-surgical pain. Wonder why I won't go boating with you? I don't know if you're drunk or high, so I'm not getting in that boat. I'm familiar with the notion of "killing the messenger" and though this is a problem, it's not my problem, right? Except it is. The person who'd have to hear my message is my dear, dear friend. So it all came out into the open when I wasn't around, thank god, but I had to 'fess up to my friend what I knew and hadn't told her. She wants me to tell her. I will honor her wishes as best I can from now on.

But dammit. I didn't sign up to be the truth police. And this is what is pissing me off. I let this anger build and build until I took it out on another dear friend who is in a confusing situation, and could be on the verge of serious trouble or serious joy, depending. He didn't deserve that.

So here's the deal. You are making your own bed. It's not my bed. If I see the bed, and the sheets are all crapped up, I'm gonna say it out loud.

No, that's not chocolate ice cream, for godsakes, that's crap. Your crap. In your bed. You have a control problem. You don't think so? You're stupid.

Capice? Don't ask me to tell you a lie because that's what you want to hear. I don't have the time or the energy for it. And if I catch you at something, your ass is grass. Not my problem, not gonna carry it. This is me, a bitch, in my truth. Your mileage may vary.

So this evening I was heading out to my last physical therapy appointment. I didn't know that hobbitt had put Entrain into the CD player, disc 4. Rise Up, Live, Vol. 1. Have you heard Mo Drums? No? Go here and listen. Tell me if you can keep your ass in the plush leather seat. Tell me if you can keep your hands from pounding the steering wheel. Tell me if you can - geez, let's face it. I shouldn't have been driving the car. At all. I wouldn't have known if I was driving on all four rims with this in the player. And 11 speakers can really do some damage. I could feel it in my heart. I don't care to imagine what this overweight, middle-aged housewife looked like thrashing about in a gray Volvo wagon that was positively pulsating. Bees attacking, I was thinking, because even grand mal seizures aren't this spastic.

My ears stopped ringing enough to do my last session with Sally A. Mostly I have to work on coming down steps. Everything else is a go. Must keep up with the exercises, because walking won't be enough. Good. Good. Felt good.

And one the way home, Dancin' in the Light, cranked all the way to 13:

I must be doing something right!
Just keep it moving, 'cause I’m dancing in the light.
I must be doing something right, right, right,
Out of the darkness 'cause I’m dancing in the light!

I don't care what I look like dancing. I've always been told that the proper word for it is "spazz." Whatever. At this size, control isn't all that feasible. But my body wanted to move, it wanted to jerk and slam and kick and jump and my voice shouted the chorus louder even than the 11 speakers could muster. It was pure joy. Never mind the grimace on my face. I was trying not to weep too much from the sheer pleasure that was coursing through my veins.

I was pounding the dashboard and screaming this chorus, the last part while parked in the garage. When I walked inside, hobbitt just grinned at me, and didn't say a word. The ringing has just about stopped in my ears and the pounding headache hasn't started yet. But I'm gonna keep it moving, I'm going to do it again (with the windows closed and probably when hobbitt's not home), I'm not gonna carry lies, and I'm gonna be dancing in the light.

And you had better watch out for yourself. That's what I'm talking about.