Well this has been quite a week. In typical Aquarius fashion, I could begin 12 different places at once - wait, make that 13. On Monday I blew up, but squelched it to the best of my abilities. Ok, maybe I shut the paper tray on my printer harshly and left brusquely at 5:15 on the nose without saying "goodbye."
Once again, I feel like a caricature of a human being, so let me continue...On my hurried way to therapy... Oy. No really though, I lost my marbles, went bananas, seethed, but did so internally. I felt white hot.
So, that's fun!
And yes, on my way to therapy. It wasn't as bad as the psychic indigestion I've subjected myself to in the past, but I probably was scowling for a time on the train. Then I began attracting negativity: perceived thrown elbows, waiting forever for my connecting bus and arriving 11 minutes late.
Yes, it was exactly 11 minutes. I was staring at the clock because I hate being late, which is stupid, because I'm always late. In fact, I'm "supposed" to be on my way to Ammie's right now, but shit, when it rains it pours.
This is what happens when you get to see the snaking streaks of light that constitute my thought activity. On David Bowie. Ok, back to being mad as all hell, nearly not able to take it anymore.
I've been thinking about my heart chakra lately. Or my heart energy. Or both since they're the same thing. I've been trying to keep open, golden yellow, glowy - if possible.
And I've been to this kind of edge before: last year, and probably every year since I wrote poems in my car. I was in Carol Stream which is a drab, but middle class suburb, West of Chicago. If you're a new reader, let me clue you in here, I hate the suburbs. My hatred has little to do with "the majority" of the people who live there. The primary reason I despise the suburbs is that they are inefficient. So in my car, in March 2005 I wrote poems in the parking lot of my future employer's office. I cried so hard.
When I was a kid I would have temper tantrums. I would throw myself dramatically on my twin bed. I would pound my fists, get snotty, scream into my pillow until I was exhausted and could do nothing but fall asleep.
I wanted to be all of those things on the bus Monday evening. A shaky part of me right now feels it all again. Anger, shaking, anger.