Rage. An existential comedy in Parts.

What do I do with rage? 

PART 1. 

the only place I express it? 

Is within. 
I dig at my insides with shit talk and perfectionism
My rage eats my guts alive

I starve or indulge my body.

I cut myself up. And sew myself up together again.
My cells sting with poisonous, undigested resentment and festering anger
It drips out of me.

Slowly. 

In cups of coffee and glasses of cool lemonade.
My rage infects every relationship I have. 

My kids. 
My x-partner
My current partner
my family
my students
my employees
my friends
my community

my goddess

my god. 

I am not violent, mind you.*

My rage drips into curt conversations and whining half/yelling spurts of insults or demands
Adult/almost 40/pouting and spouting

I don't express it much I guess, because I'm ashamed. 
Who am I to have rage? 

The most privileged of the privileged. 

No one needs to hear from me about mine. 

But it's not just mine. 

I feel the rage of my brothers and sisters. Of the world. 
Sometimes. When I open my ears. 
I hear the screams. 
I feel the life-threatening pit in my stomach when I pass a cop on the road. 
Why? 
Not because I am afraid for my life. 
But because I know that if I was black, I could die. 

For existing. 

I know because of the police, I as a white woman am OVERPROTECTED and  SAFE and ENABLED at the expense of my Black brothers and sisters. 
The society was built to protect ME from THEM.** 

Not US. 

Well that fucking enrages me. 

RAGE. 

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part two.

My own personal rage began in the 80s

1989 in America, I was 8 years old. 
When I was staring as the "dyke-iest-most-fake-british-crush-worthy-local-star-Artful Dodger-in-a-jean jacket" you have ever seen. 
I was living my theatre/magic/budding-bi-fairy dreams.
This was 1989. 

When my queer family was dying of the AIDS pandemic. 

My great uncle. 

ALL THE ARTISTS. 

died. A generation. 

1989 in America.

When my black family was dying by the crack pandemic. 

A GENERATION OF PEOPLE. 

A Genocide in America. 

1989. 

When my own father joined the army and moved us from the Lesbian capital of the world, Northampton, MA to the south, and my mother entered a psych ward and never moved back and lost custody of her kids and dad went to Saudi Arabia and I found out God and marriage was a patriarchal lie. 

(sigh.)

I was wrong by the way. 
About God. 
And Santa.

Those are my dudes. 
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Part Embarrassing. 

What do I do with my cis-fucking-white-as-hell RAGE? 

What do I do instead of this? 

REAL LIFE EXAMPLE:

Last night I left my girlfriend's house in a pouting rage and unknowingly ran over my suitcase and the laptop, Sunday Times and cigarettes I had sitting on top of it. I heard the crunch. I thought it was...the curb. I was mad. 

I needed the open road!

I needed to go and my queer-blue as hell-Subaru Forester with the double carseats would stop for NO ONE. 

FREEDOM!!***

I got one block away before the suitcase LITERALLY stopped my car from driving. 

It was lodged under the carriage of the car. I realized what happened. 

I laughed. Then I sobbed. 

Of course she ran to my aid, laying prostrate on the wet pavement, pulling out all the stops to get me to stay. She freed me and helped me load the soggy newspapers back into my car. 

I drove away, anyway. 

Why? Because no one deserves my rage. but me. 

I came home to a sleeping Papa on the couch, asleep with the lights on and the TV blaring. An old sight from what feels like ages ago. And was only the start of 2020. 

How has a WHOLE YEAR PASSED? 

And now She's her, not he. She's herself. 

I'm me. 

I sneak upstairs and clumsily unlock the door to the my bedroom. 
Plopping down into my comfort zone. 
Digesting my rage all alone. 
In my bubble. 

I sleep. 

That's what I do with my rage. 

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PART 3. 

I've never been a political activist. 

Although I give.****

I am an artist first. I believe that is my contribution.

So my only answer for today is to write. Post. And then throw some old family china in my driveway. 

As hard as I fucking can. 

DO YOU THINK this is OK (WHEN WHITE IN WHITE NEW ENGLAND and going through hell and joy at the same time) THROWING CHINA DURING A SNOWSTORM IN APRIL? 
If you were ME. Would you do it? Yes or No?? 
If Yes, please comment. 
If no, other ideas?? ????

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*Is that the problem? Do I need a punching bag? 

**So much is pouring out from listening to the THE NEWS on LIFE, and feeling the pain of the world, and watching THEM on Amazon Prime. I'm only on ep. 1. so I can't vouch for the whole program, but damn, it had me and my girlfriend absolutely sick. 

***Obviously there were no kids in my vehicle. They were home sleeping soundly with my EX at my house. STOP MOM-SHAMING ME, ME. 

****https://www.gofundme.com/f/dauntewright