measuring the hurt within the golden rule
- Nujabes, Feather
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I feel like life would be a lot easier if I could just blame everything on PMSing.
Fortunately and unfortunately, I typically don't get the emotional side effects of the human estrus cycle. Maybe it'll happen once or a few times a year, but always off chance. Far more infrequent than it is common.
But when I look at a calendar, I know that I won't be PMSing for another week and a half. I can't blame my emotional state on the rhythm of my body. I can only blame my mind.
I would say that me being in a bad mood has come to be rarer than a blue moon these days. After my incredible depression, I have had the pleasure of learning incredible virtue. Communication. Patience. Optimism. Laughter. Extroversion. Joy. I learned that up is up, and down is down -- not everything is punctuated by a spiral of woe. Not every ending has to be a sad one.
I've learned to leave the bad mood at the door. I've learned to chat about stress with close friends and family so it doesn't pent up, and I've learned to compartmentalize in healthy ways. I've learned to find time for meditation or prayer. I've learned a lot of ways to be happy, and I've been following those lessons day after day. I manage to never dwell in sadness for too long these days. Even at my recent worst, after the break with Alex, I still managed to find silver linings. It was lonely at home, but it was never too hard to smile at work. It was never too busy or hectic to find time with friends.
Today, I could only describe myself as "irritable," and I don't remember the last time that I would use that word to describe me. By nightfall, my short temper was shocking.
He joked, "Okay, you're walking home, then."
"Fine," I snapped, "Fine, I'll walk home."
He searched my eyes for a break, for the laugh behind the joke. It never came.
He looked taken aback. He looked guarded, "Are you serious?"
I didn't waver a single inch, "Yeah, I'll walk home. If you're serious, I'll walk home. I'll fucking walk home, I don't even care. If this is the shit you're gonna give me, then I'm fucking serious."
He became quiet, "I wouldn't make you walk home, c'mon."
"Okay, then," I scoffed. We moved on.
Even as it was happening, I knew that it was irrational. It was so unlike me. I replied severely and we both knew it. I was totally unnecessary, but I didn't even care.
"You can probably tell that I have a short fuse today," I mulled in the passenger seat, crossing my arms.
"Yeah..." he said, hesitantly, "it's really weird, because I think you're literally one of the most easy-going people I know."
"I'm aware," I realized that the octave of my voice was perhaps 2-3 pitches lower than my usual shrill excitement, "Okay, okay. Sorry. God. I should probably warn the students tomorrow that I'm on a short fuse, huh? Or else they'll probably die. By my hands."
He nervously laughed, "Yeah, definitely."
I mocked, "Yeah, definitely."
We both acknowledged that I was acting irrationally -- at least I was wholly self-aware of it. I don't remember the last time I've been in a "bad mood." Maybe not since I was dating Phuc -- so it's been at least three years. Jesus Christ, I hope this doesn't come back for at least another three years. It's reckless and callous, and I know it.
But fuck you if you cross me right now.
lel