The anger I felt after a set-to a week ago was a futile exercise in self harm.
I had a problem with two people. One I shall call Psycho and for her I feel deep pity and sadness. The other I shall call the Buffoon and for him I feel (I am sorry to say) contempt.
I should have known better than to answer Psycho’s call. I have been trying to help for many years but she knows the lot and is incapable of listening or being wrong. Every time I have had contact in recent years, the poor thing has lit some touch paper inside me and left me feeling angry, guilty, irritable and sad in equal parts for many days after.
Unfortunately when crossed, Psycho likes to let the world know and will make trouble on an epic scale. Countless parties will be copied in on trouble making emails, cc’d to friends, family, lawyers, the Archbishop of Ulam Bator and Uncle Tom Cobbley. The object seems to be to cause massive buggeration all round.
Tittle tattle, gossip and venom are poured out in equal measure and the Buffoon (one of the lucky recipients) saw an opportunity to join battle, sending his own batch of vitriolic nonsense to various of the parties. You would feel pity also for the Buffoon if he were not a self important, ill educated and stupid windbag intent on nothing but his own aggrandizement and self interest.
But look who is working himself up…which brings me back to the point. At last. Whether I am on the moral high ground or, more probably, not, I am self harming by allowing anger to surface. For me anger is rather like agent orange; or dogshit on the bottom of my shoes. I just can’t scrape it off. It festers, smells and builds for days until my blood pressure rises, and another trip to the doctor is called for.
I am sure that if you are a saintly cove like the dear old Dalai Wotsit, you don’t get angry in the first place. Years of sitting cross legged and saying “Ommmm” must have made him immune to vulgar, common or garden anger. And what of the self help Gurus like Choppy Deepak and Eggsplurt Tolla? Such great men claim to live in the now and are presumably immune to the Seven Deadly Sins.
Sadly I am a lowly mortal and when I get pissed off I really do have a massive Bad Hair day. Well quite a few Bad Hair days really. I am impossibly irritable and bad tempered, I drive dangerously, I do not sleep at night. My irritation with Psycho and the arselicking Buffoon courses through my veins.
But guess what? It can all be avoided by the simple tactic of avoiding poor old Pyscho and the absurd Buffoon. Don’t read their emails, don’t pick up the phone. Baton down all hatches, close the blackout curtains. Recognize that wherever the fault lies, all parties are suffering and no purpose is being served.
I guess it isn’t always possible to cut people out of your life. Or there again, perhaps it is, with a bit of effort. Providing you don’t lose your rag you could change jobs, wives, husbands, countries, town or villages. Sexes even. Flee. It would be a bit presumptuous to expect them to flee but as long as one party does, your purpose is served.
I wish I were not so easily riled. I wish I were not such a bad tempered old fucker but there you go, I am.
The serious point is that anger helps nobody and does immeasurable harm. Lives can be ruined, lost even. My own solution going forward will be to avoid danger, if at all possible. Make sure my paths do not cross with those who trigger my wrath. It’s the only way.
Because Dalai Wotsit I am most definitely not!