Nothing was saving our day.

I had an agitating night at work. And then minorly miserable things kept happening to me on the way home, the types of things that make you feel bad about yourself, not at other people, like I kept being tested and I kept failing as a worthy human being. And now I'm home and so cranky I don't know what to do with myself. I wish I could just go to bed angry, but its the one emotion that does not seem to induce a tendency towards wanting to sleep it away. I will probably lie in the middle room with the dog and listen to the rain for awhile. But first, I will type out a poem in honor of the occasion.

Poem

Hate is only one of many responses
true, hurt and hate go hand in hand
and why be afraid of hate, it is only there
think of filth, is it really awesome
neither is hate
don't be shy of unkindness, either
it's cleansing and allows you to be direct
like an arrow that feels something

out and out meanness, too, lets love breathe
you don't have to fight off getting in too deep
you can always get out if you're not too scared

an ounce of prevention's
enough to poison the heart
don't think of others
until you have thought of yourself, are true

all of these things, if you feel them
will be graced by a certain reluctance
and turn into gold

if felt by me, will be smilingly deflected
by your mysterious concern

- Frank O'Hara

That phrase nails the part about some emotions that frighten me -- the "getting in too deep". I can always get out. Right? Right. I have to keep telling myself that though. What is line between a small amount of slow growing poison and what is the feeling that needs to be ridden out so it will pass? Maybe I'll do what I did as a kid, and throw myself on the bed and rage into the pillow until I get weary, then pick up a book and start reading and forget why I was mad in the first place. I found Alison Bechdel's Fun House at the library the other day and I finished my other book tonight, so maybe I'll start that.