this morning on my way to work, a car turned left directly into an ambulance’s path. sirens, lights, etc. it started from a stopped position and turned left when the light changed, with apparently no investigation of the sirens (or maybe they just didn’t care?) i got so angry. it felt like a key.
yesterday i noticed my anger joylessly, fought with my anger, had a stormy night filled with drinking and playing computer games and jerking off, anything to get away from myself. i always hate to see my anger arrive. i never greet it with love or respect. but i do know this about myself, and try to come around. when i can. it is just so hard, so unwelcome. today i feel resentful of everything. angry because of too much oversight at work. furious at thoughtless, selfish, indifferent commuters. angry that i have to feel anger. angry at the book i’m reading and its stupid fucking ableism. angry because of how fucking hard life is with disabilities, and angry that i feel guilty for them. every fucking day. i could go on and on.
i’m trying to write this in between working. my writing probably suffers for it. everything seems disjointed that way, now, but saying anything at all is still something.
so feeling angry at the car (i believe it was a bmfuckingw) that ignored the ambulance, i tried to realize that my anger has a source. i had tried to identify it but just felt angry, just resentful, just angry at everything. i think sometimes when i don’t know why i’m angry it’s because the reason is not deemed acceptable or worthy. i am so angry at the people with the power, for whom everything is easy but they demand to be easier, who resent even us saying that they are in power, they want everything. freedom without responsibility, which is what they say that anarchy is. (i’m stealing that idea from a talk i watched with margaret killjoy and ursula k leguin.) i’m angry at people who think they are more important than other people.
driving, i think a lot of that becomes clearer. though why in a car more than a scooter, i’m not sure. i guess the scooter occupies my mind more, and somehow it’s easier to think i’m at fault.
speaking of which, i’m fucking heartsick that my scooter is dead and i don’t have the will to revive it. it may only need a jump-start. but i don’t know who to call or how to proceed. meanwhile spring sets in, and the weather is perfectly nice, and it is ridiculous for me to be driving a car around. i’m angry about that, too. i hate anger. it makes me feel so impotent. it shuts me down, blocks all possible action. i know it is foolish and impotent to be angry at my anger. (btw it’s not just mine those people have fucking names.) i know that the key in my healing is to unravel and experience this anger. fuck, that makes me pissed.
working is difficult, concentrating is difficult. it feels like this impotence can defeat me.
mother, i am not less important than you. you are very small-minded and i am furious at you. … right?
there are no magic words. those words were in my head and i thought i’d get credit if i said them. i guess that was foolish. there is no such thing as credit. i want this to work its way out of me, i can’t work, i can’t think, i want to be dead.
