Miss Ashley Pants

Anger is good for you?

Insert eyeroll and inner monologue: “Now I’ve heard it all…”

No, really. Anger apparently isn’t so bad – if you can figure out the “why” behind the wrath – and what to do about it.

Ahem. Rephrase – what to productively do about it.

I love wreaking havoc. In fact the empty cupboards once filled with now shattered china, are an epic testament to my long term rage addiction. But I slowly came to realize that despite that orgasmic moment when my favorite plate fractures in a sonic boom against the refrigerator, there’s very little satisfaction that follows after. So, I gave this read a chance and did my typical, “Okay. I guess…” follow-up reaction halfway through.

The main idea was that anger’s there for a reason (duh).

But that reason’s not to pitch dishes. It prepares us for action – like fighting, defending, or –as I saw in this other online documentary – eating. Yep, “hangry” is a f’real thing – bred out of low blood sugar and exacerbated by fasting (wait, is that where the term “skinny bitch” comes from?).

Makes total sense.

As humans, we’re not fans of feeling our feelings out loud. Especially professionally. It’s admirable when we can constipate emotions because it gives the illusion that we’re not bothered by insult or misfortune. A good indication of such a full-of-it folk is observing their inner shittiness snowball and eventually surface elsewhere. In essence, we become assholes as we try to plug emotional leak-holes like some cartoon ship.

Some are excellent at portraying a temporary “like water off a duck’s back” illusion for colleagues (before they go home and spray the fat lady in their well with a hose), but the truth is that real ducks settle bidnizz straight away. In between laying dreamily prone with my chin resting on my interlaced fingers and being mesmerized by his accent, sometimes I’ll actually listen to Eckhart Tolle talk about things n’ stuff. On one such day, he said something like, “Ven beeerds fieeight in zee pond, zhey turn avay after and flop zeir vings rapidly. Zey don’t sink for zee next veek, ‘How dare he!”….”

I thought that was pretty interesting – the wing flapping. It’s like when Polar Bears get shot with a tranquilizer. They do that same thing that looks not unlike my dad trying to dance (which I then must shake off to relieve my memory banks).

Or my dog – who huffs or sneezes loudly if she runs into a wall. Bitch is diffusing the pissed-off response.

Or me, when I lose a scrabble game:

I suppose there are more civilized ways to channel this emotional response, and I highly suggest giving all of them a try first. My personal favorite is singing Headup by Deftones loudly while running down the dotted lines on the freeway.

Sure, you’ll look like Corky from Life Goes On to everyone else, but who cares?

Some days, as I’m ambling through life gracelessly like I do and stub my toe, I’ll even have a combo Aha! Anger moment as I sit sucking oxygen through my teeth and unexpectedly become imbued with insight for all sorts of innovative profanity.

See?

We’ve found yet another productive purpose for anger.

Now, let us all take moment to be grateful for our rage.

Amen.