nearly got into a fistfight this morning
Aug. 2nd, 2007 12:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ffloSome woman in a white car behind me, impatient with how long it was taking me to zip into traffic at the turnaround on Packard in front of my vet's, started honking at me. The rear-view revealed that she thought gestures might help as well. I imagine she'd thought I could have made it into the left lane at one interval; I imagine she lacked the ability to imagine that I might want to get into the right lane immediately, as one would if one were taking one's old sick cat to the vet whose driveway is right there. I also imagine that she may be as uptight as suggested by elements of her physical appearance that I refrain from detailing here.
Regardless, I found no difficulty whatsoever getting in touch with my anger at that moment. I did have some difficulty staying in the car and petulantly delaying my subsequent entry into traffic, vs. getting out of the vehicle to walk back and explain to her exactly how much of an asshole she was being, and of what specific varieties. That's when the fisticuffs might have ensued.
Chester didn't seem scandalized in the least that I exhibited a gesture of my own, going with my theory that it's somehow more vulgar to display the middle finger with the thumb sticking out as well.
Lately I've experienced, more than a coupla times, the impulse toward bodily/physical expression of anger. Wonder vaguely, but only vaguely, whether I oughta keep an eye on that. And don't seem to care much that it's only vaguely. Nor whether, or to what extent, the anger might be masking or blocking, or standing in the stead of, something(s) else.
Pretty sure, however, that if I do clock somebody, I'll consider it a matter of concern.
There's a scene in Victor, Victoria in which James Garner, wanting to feel all het, goes into a dive fulla sailors, walks to the bar, and says nice and loud---more to the crowd, silenced by his entry, than to the bartender: "Milk." Poof, he's in the physical fight he was itching for. It's kind of a funny bit, if multiply stereotypical & supportive of the character's homophobia (which the film ultimately doesn't have a problem with, I'd suggest). But I can identify with him there, just now. Only not to prove anything about who I might or might not want to have sex with.
I haven't been in a physical fight of note since I was 20 or so, that I can think of. Not where I fought back, anyway. But I feel just about this close, where "this" ain't much, to wanting to knock the crap out of the next hostile idiot who pops up. Or get it knocked out of me in the attempt, or both, or whatever. And there seem to be plenty of idiot strangers presenting themselves and their hostile idiocies, as if to tell me they're ready to go.
It may be like the part of me who has to remind herself that I shouldn't, cuz I can't, just throw myself onto my hands on the floor in front of me and start walking on them, upside down, just cuz I can feel myself doing it. But I don't think it's much like that. I think it's more like other things.
Regardless, I found no difficulty whatsoever getting in touch with my anger at that moment. I did have some difficulty staying in the car and petulantly delaying my subsequent entry into traffic, vs. getting out of the vehicle to walk back and explain to her exactly how much of an asshole she was being, and of what specific varieties. That's when the fisticuffs might have ensued.
Chester didn't seem scandalized in the least that I exhibited a gesture of my own, going with my theory that it's somehow more vulgar to display the middle finger with the thumb sticking out as well.
Lately I've experienced, more than a coupla times, the impulse toward bodily/physical expression of anger. Wonder vaguely, but only vaguely, whether I oughta keep an eye on that. And don't seem to care much that it's only vaguely. Nor whether, or to what extent, the anger might be masking or blocking, or standing in the stead of, something(s) else.
Pretty sure, however, that if I do clock somebody, I'll consider it a matter of concern.
There's a scene in Victor, Victoria in which James Garner, wanting to feel all het, goes into a dive fulla sailors, walks to the bar, and says nice and loud---more to the crowd, silenced by his entry, than to the bartender: "Milk." Poof, he's in the physical fight he was itching for. It's kind of a funny bit, if multiply stereotypical & supportive of the character's homophobia (which the film ultimately doesn't have a problem with, I'd suggest). But I can identify with him there, just now. Only not to prove anything about who I might or might not want to have sex with.
I haven't been in a physical fight of note since I was 20 or so, that I can think of. Not where I fought back, anyway. But I feel just about this close, where "this" ain't much, to wanting to knock the crap out of the next hostile idiot who pops up. Or get it knocked out of me in the attempt, or both, or whatever. And there seem to be plenty of idiot strangers presenting themselves and their hostile idiocies, as if to tell me they're ready to go.
It may be like the part of me who has to remind herself that I shouldn't, cuz I can't, just throw myself onto my hands on the floor in front of me and start walking on them, upside down, just cuz I can feel myself doing it. But I don't think it's much like that. I think it's more like other things.
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can't stop commenting...
Date: Aug. 2nd, 2007 07:40 pm (UTC)Total silence. Then...
Nephew: "I understood what all of that meant."
Daniel: "Should I be here?"
My sister and I could not stop laughing hysterically like shrews after that.
Re: can't stop commenting...
Date: Aug. 2nd, 2007 08:01 pm (UTC)And here I've been thinking you might wanna tut-tut me that I sorta forgot there were several children around the other day at the Washtenaw Dairy when I objected so loudly to my friends that I couldn't believe they didn't think this woman who'd just been there was fuckable.
I tut-tutted myself. As I realized, telling vjsmom about it, saying "fuck" around children when you mean (the meaning that means to) fuck seems worse than when you mean the curse. More shocking, anyway, because it's more unusual, as well as sorta overtly sexual.
Re: can't stop commenting...
Date: Aug. 2nd, 2007 08:10 pm (UTC)When mom stubbed her toe or forgot something important, she would recite the following in quick succession: "shit-fuck-piss-damn!"
Re: can't stop commenting...
Date: Aug. 2nd, 2007 08:29 pm (UTC)Re: can't stop commenting...
Date: Aug. 2nd, 2007 09:15 pm (UTC)