Coffee Rhetoric: Anger
Showing posts with label Anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anger. Show all posts

February 17, 2010

NOT.The.One

Dear Life,
Alright, I get it! My tenacity has rubbed you the wrong way.  In fact, my resilience has driven you to test me over and over and over again. Almost to the point that I feel as if I've become your official whipping post.  Now, I was emphatic about starting this new year off to a great start... all around. But alas, to no avail, because you're constantly picking on me. Don't you have any con artists and sketchy characters to teach a lesson?
It wasn't enough that you stomped on my fingers repeatedly while I was desperately hanging onto that window's ledge for leverage a couple of years ago, feet flailing beneath me... desperate for firm footing, because you wanted me to fall onto hard concrete... a broken heap. When that didn't work...when I managed to pull myself up and in... throbbing fingertips and all... you withered away, shrieking like an exorcised banshee... vowing to come back to kick my ass.
Listen, this latest kick to the gut and ribs left me rolling on the floor, clutching my sides in pain. I was not expecting that type of assault. So why continue the onslaught while I'm down? I'm struggling. Crawling. Dragging myself across the floor, in an effort to ward off your attack and stand back up, and you reeled back with your stiletto heel, pointed to perfection- (hey, Karmic bitches need to look fly too)- and administered one final, sharp kick. I thought that one would cause me to projectile vomit all the fight I had left in the pit of my stomach, all over the walls. I was able to choke it back down, however. I curled up in a fetal position to ward off your wild attack as best as I could... as you flailed your fists, shrieked, spat, and stomped like a petulant toddler. I'm still in shock... my ribs and sides are still quite sure from that last kick. But I was still able get back up... and stagger to a safe corner to plot my next move and get my bearings and second wind back.
I'm still mulling. I'm still plotting. A little defeated and bruised... but up and pondering my next move. 

xoxo
Coffey


August 26, 2008

School's in Session

How do I know? Because, despite the fact that I took an earlier bus to work, I still managed to be ten minutes late. Seems my bus got caught behind a stagnant school bus's flashing STOP sign, every other block! And once the children are settled and seated on the school bus, you know the driver has to fucking sit there for an additional five minutes, just to spite morning rush hour commuters, and to go "nah nah nah nah nah nah" over the fact that traffic HAS to stop when a school bus driver's STOP sign comes out.
I also noted the young hellions waiting at their respective stops. Faces greeeazed up and glistening. Scrubbed of this summer's funk and muck. School uniforms pressed new school bags slung over their shoulders as they waited to be picked up... reluctant yet hopeful looks on their faces. One kid looked downright distraught. As if he weren't quite ready yet. Needless to say, I do NOT miss those days. While some students' start date is this week, others begin the stresses of academia next week. I have been and will be avoiding the mall at all costs! Nothing worse than the school shopping rush! Wall-to-wall bodies taking up every inch of the mall. Parents sucking their teeth at indecisive and petulant tweens. Teenagers cutting their eyes at their mothers for not letting them purchase those $200 Citizens of Humanity jeans. I'd rather wait my turn.
As far as the Condo I Covet goes, progress has stalled. Par for the course unfortunately. See, the universe and the forces that be, seem to have it in for me. Contentment, PEACE never comes sans attached strings! I don't have it that easy. Some people are simply lucky bitches, others have to fight, beg, and plead for a little luck. For a tiny break. For some good karma. So in the meantime, I'm back to pounding the pavement (so I'll have a back up plan)- until I hear the good (or fucked up) word. My sanity is contingent on my settling into a place of my own again, and having some semblance of stability.

April 20, 2008

Hair Raising Tale

Recently, while browsing in a store at the mall, an attractive, young Black woman and sales associate (she worked at the store) around my age approached me. "Excuse me, are you from around here?" she asked me. A bit perplexed I answered, "Yes. I am."
She said, "Like reaally from around here or from somewhere else?" "I dont' know how you mean," I answered. "Do you want to know if I'm from this particular town, or if I'm from this state??" "Well, I'm asking you, because I think your hair is BEAUTIFUL and I love it!" she exclaimed. "Wow, thank you!" I answered sheepishly. "No really!" she said. "I think your hair looks great. See, I'm not from around here. I just relocated from Minnesota. I live in Middletown, CT. I've been here for six months, and the towns I've frequented so far haven't been that receptive to my hair." Confused, my gazed found the top of her head... "Oh, I'm wearing a wig." She said, shyly. "My hair is natural underneath here, and I usually wear it in a style similar to yours. Since I've moved here, I haven't worn it that way though." "Oh why??" I asked her. "I don't know," she started. "but I get this weird feeling when I'm out shopping at organic food markets or if I'm out and about running errands, people stare at me disapprovingly. Like they don't like my hair! And the job interviews I've gone on since moving here... I since that they find my hair inappropriate... plus I'm a full-figured woman so I feel..." At this juncture in the conversation, an older White sales associate happened upon the conversation and listened with interest. "Well what towns are you going to? I know Middletown is known as a relatively artsy town." I conversed. "Well, towns like Glastonbury..." she started. I rolled my eyes knowingly, as did the White sales associate. "Firstly, Glastonbury??" I smirked. "Look girl, I think you should not hide your hair underneath that wig. I get nothing but positive feedback from people. I've been on numerous job interviews with my hair just like this! Perhaps it's my attitude and demeanor. But I've never had that issues. And if someone doesn't like it, I could care less. My hair is neat, I keep it combed and it's not unruly and unkempt when I venture out in public. I completely understand that 'feeling' you get, however. And it's certainly valid. I don't understand why someone would demand that we wear our hair a certain way that isn't natural to who we are ethnically!" She nodded appreciatively. The white sales associate (who's hair was dark, somewhat course, and curly) opined that she doesn't understand why someone would discriminate against the texture of someone's hair. She also pointed out that people in the major cities and towns (in Connecticut) could care less! I agreed and told her the black hair issue is a complicated and multilayered situation. And that it'd be hard to explain and chop up in just fifteen minutes. "Look, wear your natural hair." I told the young sales associate. "Don't hide behind the wig." "I just want to thank you!" she said. "You've inspired me to do just that! You really have. I'd like for you to return so that you can see it! Perhaps we can become friends and you can suggest other places and towns I can roam freely, without feeling insecure!" I told her it was a done deal. And that I'd return to the store, when time permitted me to.
The issue of Black hair is indeed a touchy one for the Black community. Many of us have a difficult enough time coming to terms with specific aspects of our ethnicity, but when you have White people weighing it, it makes it all the more difficult to navigate! While the situation is a little more tolerable now, Corporate America has, for years, made it taboo and uncomfortable for Black professionals (especially women) to sport braids, dreadlocks, and naturals to work. Preferring that we chemically process our hair or sport hair extensions to properly "fit in" with what 'the majority' considers to be the norm. I highly doubt White-American women would be asked to tan and perm their hair, to add texture if they want to be hired or considered as a candidate for employment. So why are Black women, Black people expected to change those parts of ourselves, we can't help being. Natural hair dictates just that! Something that's natural to our ethnicity and race. Glamour Magazine came under fire last year when an editor accepted an invitation from a New York law firm, to present a slide show on the "Do's and Don'ts of Corporate Fashion."
The first slide allegedly featured a Black woman wearing a stylish afro. "A real no-no" scoffed the Glamour editor. Who followed up by stating that dreadlocks were "truly dreadful!" She continued that it was ’shocking’ that some people still think it ‘appropriate’ to wear those hairstyles at the office. ‘No offense,’ she sniffed, but those ‘political’ hairstyles really have to go. I'd be willing to wager that the offending editor pissed off several African-American lawyers, who were undoubtedly present during her presentation.
Glamour Magazine found itself doing major damage control, by hosting a panel discussion in November, dedicated to Women, Race, and Beauty. The March issue featured a transcript of said discussion. Not good enough, because the fashion industry and society, no matter how many panel discussions (a seemingly common solution to flagrant bigotry)- are hastily thrown together, Black beauty will forever come under fire. And quite frankly, I'm sick to death of it. Period. I find it appalling that a woman who makes no apologies for her "blackness" is accused of trying to make a "political statement." Or is described as a "nappy-headed ho' "
Perhaps if I bleached my skin along with over processing, beweaving, and damaging my hair, I can avoid offending racist and self-hating zealots who refuse to acknowledge that blond, skinny, and spray-tanned is not the sole criteria for beauty. I'm sorry (not) if my brown self and kinky hair offends. But then again, that's not MY problem. It's White and Corporate America's hurdle to get over. Black people... Black women specifically need to get over it and stop allowing society, people, Black men, other Black women, White men, purported White "fashion mavens" and the media dictate and define how our beauty should register, just so they can feel comfortable.

January 19, 2008

Handkerchief Head Negro

Is it just me, or do quite a few Black, male leader types from the Civil Rights era have a lot of disdain for Barack Obama's run for the White House? Where was the disappointment when Condi and Colin joined the ranks of the Bush Administration and contributed to the downfall of our international relations and this country's current state? Anyway, this pastor says we young Black people don't have a right to vote or choose who our next President should be, because we're ignorant, have no substance, have amassed massive college debt, we're trying to "eat and date white" and we've corrupted society. Notwithstanding the fact that he sounds like one of the biggest, intra-racially bigoted, mark ass, ignoramuses yet. What the FUCK does "eating white" mean?? I'd love to hear him expound on that whole theory of eating white.

January 05, 2008

La Guerre des Soeurs

When you consider who your adversaries are, depending on your situation, none cut like a sharp ginzu knife or are as compelling than antagonists from your immediate family. Situations brew, they fester, they percolate, and seethe. When they finally reach a fever pitch and culminate in an all out war of words purged and wild gesticulating... it makes for a nasty and uncomfortable situation. It also makes for some interesting revelations and necessary moments of clarity.
How does one navigate the complexities of family ties when you are disliked by a sibling... have known for years a close family member holds disdain for you and hate your guts, despite strained efforts to play "nice," or are (yourself) harboring distrust, mutual disdain, and dislike for a sib? The answer is, despite what you know is right... at a certain point in your life you don't anymore. You stop zig zagging. You end your journey, cut your unfortunate losses and reluctantly move on, because none of us have the luxury of choosing what type of family members we want or how we want them to relate to us. While some people have a great rapport with their siblings, others have strained ones that eventually crack and then break from the weight. All that's left to do is to remove yourself as far away from the person and situation as soon as time and resources will allow. And that's exactly what I'm aggressively attempting to do. A sad state of affairs, but considering the rough year I've had and my knack for catching a mean case of bad luck, I've grown numb to anything else negative that has happened or may potentially happen in my life. I feel and emote for those few seconds and then I glaze over... hot water turning into ice. Stoicism has become a code of conduct I've grown adept at. It's my armor and shield, if you will.
I never understood the concept of estrangement, of people separating themselves from immediate family members... moms, dads, brothers, sisters... until today. The next couple of months will probably be awkward, but c'est la vie. Such are the breaks for those who are "first born second." The world doesn't end. It may choke, sputter, and gasp for breath... but it doesn't end. ;-( ...

August 07, 2007

Please Pardon Me...

... I'm brooding. My energy is scattered, the planets and the stars are dispersed all willy nilly. My patience, my intestinal fortitude has been tried and tested and so I'm taking deep inhalations of breath, breathing out slowly, and counting. Because I truly believe certain people were put on this planet to piss off and antagonize others. There are those of us who can shrug off the funk and then there are those of us whose fingers flex after a certain moment in space and time. Our hands open and close from the rage boiling in the bit of our stomach because we want to strike. We want to slap. We want to choke. To injure. But instead we breathe in and out, tell ourselves to get a grip, that'll it'll be okay. And then we count.
One... Two... Three...

May 15, 2007

Fureur

Last night, I re-visited the Japanese horror flick, Ju-on: The Grudge and then followed it up with the American rendition, The Grudge. The original version felt as chilling, as if I were watching it for the first time. I still felt goosebumps as I watched the haunting and disturbing images float across the screen. The American remake was slightly less compelling, but wasn't short on providing chills. The Grudge is about a supernatural curse that is born after a wife and her young son die violently, in the grip of rage and sorrow (at the hands of the woman's husband, in a fit of jealous anger). Anybody who comes into contact with the curse, of course dies, causing it to grow and constantly repeat itself in a deadly chain of events... bouncing from person to person and feeding off of them. After watching both films, I began pondering the power and emotion behind passion and rage. I'm a passionate and tempestuous woman. When I was young and precocious, I had a difficult time harnessing those emotions and my anger. As annoying and selfish as preteens and teenagers can be today, I commiserate with them to a certain degree. Their young brains are still developing. That coupled with raging hormones and being caught in the throes of adolescence as well as being on the cusp of adulthood. Sheer insanity. Once we blossom into adults however, we are responsible for our behavior and how we choose to channel passion and rage. Some of us harbor it more than others. Our brains may be developed and common sense should no longer be a foreign concept at this point in our lives, but it still requires a great deal of restraint and grappling, to harness such intense emotions. I know I grapple with it, anyway. There are some with laid back, tranquil personalities sans incident and despite whatever turmoil and anger they may be feeling. What can I say, I'm intense. I boil, I seethe, my insides churn (even if I don't project that emotion externally). Kissing, eating, sex, anger, contentment... all of these wonderful and ugly things, I experience with an unbridled intensity. Passion and rage work in tandem as far, as I'm concerned. And are just as strong if not stronger, than the act of loving. Pondering and realizing all of this, I've come to the conclusion that perhaps this is why I may seem aloof to strangers or to those who haven't gotten to know me completely. What is in fact me showing restraint and being miserly, by not laying my emotions bare, for someone who is unfamiliar to me, to cash in on, and not having earned any of it. That's me, not wasting that passionate anger on the petty and insignificant. This applies to the brief relationships I've had too ... the confusion some of these men have felt, when I didn't chase them down or beg them for their time... me simply opting to move on and not look back. I'm personable and cordial enough and I open myself up, juuuust wide enough. I don't feel compelled to expend that type of energy on someone, with abandon and without thought. That passion, I'd rather save for something (or someone?) exciting and relevant, and channel it in productive ways, and have it paid back to me ten fold. I'd hate to waste passion and rage on the undeserving, only to have the results end up a tortured entity that continues on in a familiar pattern of anger and sorrow.

April 18, 2007

ARGH!!

This is me... in a nutshell. Just like Carrie, I feel distressed, frustrated, and overwhelmed!
The Force just keeps on throwing me those fast curve balls... fast balls swathed in angry, hot flames... with heat that lick the sides of my face when I duck and weave in avoidance of being hit and then burned to a crisp. If it's not one thing then it's certainly (and seemingly) another, with me. I think I'm a perpetual (and unwilling) contestant in one of those dodgeball tournaments. That has to be it, for sure. Either that or the Goddesses are having a field day, are bored, and making me the butt of their jokes. Either way, I'm resilient though. This too shall pass. Must. continue. to. count. in. head. inhale. exhale. breathe.Okaaaay.
P.S. I used to be bomb ass at fireball, when I was a wee lass. I need to keep those skill sharp and apply them to my current, figurative state of being.

November 05, 2006

Exorcism of Ms. Jones: Part 3- On Anger

Purging the Funk (reposted)

"I imagine that one of the reasons that people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, that they will be forced to deal with the pain." - James Baldwin

I feel...

bored with being bored

bored with winter

duped

scorned

bored with being solitary

lonely in my solitude

adept at the game

played by the game....

I feel.... like a little slice of heaven-

that's floating through space and time

the sudden need to indulge the lust that's anxious to wander.

I feel anxious

tortured

tormented

happy

angry

vengeful

forgetful.

I feel like I can't eat

I feel like I can't sleep

I feel like I have indigestion, for I can't choke down the chunks of anger and aggravation burning in my chest and stomach like hot coals.

I feel a little lighter.

I feel like my waistline is shrinking somewhat

I feel like I made a mistake

I feel like kicking myself for letting ye olde guard down

I feel like forgiving myself, and moving on

I feel fed up with the triteness of everyday people

I feel randy

I'm feeling fed up with the dating game.

I feel tired

I feel depressed by the banalities of everyday life.

I feel an overwhelming sense of disappointment in Man-unkind.

I feel, I feel, I feel...

I'm feeling my most creative...

I feel like going out in the hall and yelling like this... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I feel stir-crazy!

I'm feeling like I have a bad case of cabin fever

I feel like I want to pack up and get the fuck away from here.

I feel London

I feel France

I feel like removing my underpants...

and laying in the warm sun on the Mediterranean, somewhere.

*sigh*