I call this blog Truth and Beauty. But the truth can be ugly.
Angry is ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Even the word ugly is ugly. It's not a pretty word, like lace, or ruffle, daffodil or curl. No wonder I've spent so much of my life avoiding anger, skirting it, swallowing it, burying it in candy bars and brownie batter. God, it's hard to face, feel and sit with.
I feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so ashamed and so ugly. Like a big greenish brown toad, slimy and undesirable, lurking in a creek. Or a hawk, frightening and mean, perched above tranquil Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary.
I should not be angry. I should be perfect.
Our check deposit cleared, we got out the cash [$230 plus] and drove over to Roach's Towing to pick up the car. But guess what, the police impounded it after I left yesterday. It's my Dad's car, and he gave it to me before he died. For a long while, we didn't drive it, and then we started to. We insured it, but did not reregister it yet because I lost the title Dad signed and gave me. Brilliant, I know.
So we have to get to DMV with the death certificate, which I just remembered to get from Sis on Saturday. So now I still can't have my laptop and I still can't have the car and the charges are snowballing like nobody's business.
You are small-hearted, I said to the man at the towing window. You couldn't have called to tell me? He had my phone number. He seemed pleased to tell me what happened when I came to get my car.
I know that hating that man doesn't help anything. There's a part of me that has been thinking about apologizing to him, dropping off a note. That part of me is thinking of my yoga teacher, Joe, and how peaceful he is. But then the larger part of me is angry, very angry.
Sorry for this long rant. Thanks for listening.
Good night.
TCOY
Angry is ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Even the word ugly is ugly. It's not a pretty word, like lace, or ruffle, daffodil or curl. No wonder I've spent so much of my life avoiding anger, skirting it, swallowing it, burying it in candy bars and brownie batter. God, it's hard to face, feel and sit with.
I feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so ashamed and so ugly. Like a big greenish brown toad, slimy and undesirable, lurking in a creek. Or a hawk, frightening and mean, perched above tranquil Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary.
I should not be angry. I should be perfect.
Our check deposit cleared, we got out the cash [$230 plus] and drove over to Roach's Towing to pick up the car. But guess what, the police impounded it after I left yesterday. It's my Dad's car, and he gave it to me before he died. For a long while, we didn't drive it, and then we started to. We insured it, but did not reregister it yet because I lost the title Dad signed and gave me. Brilliant, I know.
So we have to get to DMV with the death certificate, which I just remembered to get from Sis on Saturday. So now I still can't have my laptop and I still can't have the car and the charges are snowballing like nobody's business.
You are small-hearted, I said to the man at the towing window. You couldn't have called to tell me? He had my phone number. He seemed pleased to tell me what happened when I came to get my car.
I know that hating that man doesn't help anything. There's a part of me that has been thinking about apologizing to him, dropping off a note. That part of me is thinking of my yoga teacher, Joe, and how peaceful he is. But then the larger part of me is angry, very angry.
Sorry for this long rant. Thanks for listening.
Good night.
TCOY
- Boot camp in the dome.
- Productive work day.
- Walked Sug at park.
- Watched my DVD of old "Gidget" episodes. Oh how I love them. Life was so simple then--burger joints, dances, really cute, colorful outfits.
- Wrote this blog, felt this ugly feeling.
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