Anger

Anger has a way of lurking beneath the surface, like all those little fish at the beach. I don't notice them until they start nibbling at my open wounds. For some reason surgery has a way of reminding me how much anger I carry...how much anger is under the surface, all of which I choose to ignore, even when it squirts out the side of my head like cobra venom and lands on someone who it really shouldn't. Maybe it's not so much that surgery reminds me as it is that that wall I keep anger shoved behind gets tumbled during the physiological and psychological vulnerability of surgery.

Speaking of which, vulnerability makes me angry. This morning I was angry. Really angry. Not at anyone, or any groups. Just angry. Angry about vulnerability...and if I'm going to look at it more closely, angry at people who have, due to power differentials, made me vulnerable/taken advantage of my vulnerability. Revenge and Retribution-Angry. Not that I'd actually do anything, but these malicious thoughts are not so comfortable. When I was younger, I wore these like a suit of armour...but that isn't how I live my life anymore, and in my doped up, foggy-headed, post-surgery state I'm having trouble finding a place for all of this clutter.

Maybe it isn't clutter. Maybe it just...is. Maybe I just need to embrace the darkness, the pain, the anger. Sort it out of the floor...figure out what to keep, what to save, what to put to the side for further review. 

Maybe I should just order a pizza and take a nap.