Bitter tears of frustration and angry thoughts about things that are totally within my control but I am too weak to change come from nowhere.
Yet I am so damn tired of pretending that I'm strong and independent -- such a lie -- I am anything but.
As I drive prayers are raised for strength against indulging in the rancor that wants to find it's voice, and I am scrawling thoughts on the back of a grocery list at stoplights -- my half-hour commute divided by words -- just so I can get them out of my head.
Biting my lip and clutching at Mary hanging around my neck -- like the life raft she is -- in an effort to not give into the ire that floods me -- against Satan who tells me lies -- that I would only spew to the four walls, berating the cycle of hormones that have sent me into this emotional tottering (those chemicals we women aren't supposed to talk about, or blame, because we are all supposed to be feminists and beyond those things. Screw feminism. I am PMSing and I will blame the hormones; it is the third day in a row I haven't been able to get to the gym like I wanted).
Dissatisfaction (not just from missing the gym)
I can't possibly be the only one who sometimes wants to just scream and curse and throw things.
("Everybody's got a dark side. Do you love me? Can you love mine?")
But I am too nice, and won't do those things. I am stuck, and I am not brave enough to change or vocalize.
I am plagued by self-doubt and fail continually to take action to be just a little bit selfish, if only to better myself.
Oh God, come to my assistance! Oh Lord, make haste to help me!
This, too, shall pass, He says to me, my jewel, be not afraid! Lean on me and I will be your strength.