Yesterday I came to the blinding realization that the ENTIRE WORLD was engaged in an evil conspiracy against me. I’d been feeling badly for a week. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I couldn’t get on the Internet, and the phone didn’t work. Clearly the fact that I had to wake up every morning, open my eyes, breathe in and out, feel air on my skin and be conscious was an exceptionally cruel and unusual punishment, and was not to be borne any longer.
So I decided to do what any normal person would do when faced with the fact that their daily existence has become excruciatingly unbearable: I decided to throw a temper tantrum.
Sadly though, I soon discovered that my temper tantrum skills had seriously declined over the years, due to my having bought into the whole “story” of needing to become a rational, logical, self-controlled adult. What was I thinking? Because when the time came and I really needed to be able to throw a really satisfying fit, it was not pretty.
All of the cats run for their lives.
Me: “I MUST physically destroy something RIGHT NOW!”
Me: frantically looking around my office for something I can smash with our new pickax.
Me: “YES, the glass table. I will DESTROY you now!!”
Rational, Adult Me: “Um, are you sure you want to do that?”
Me who is totally out of control: “WHAT?!”
Adult Me: “You know, the table. Are you sure you want to break it and get glass all over your office?”
Me who has totally lost it: “What the hell are you talking about?! Can’t you see I’m in the middle of throwing a temper tantrum here?!”
Adult Me: “I’m just saying, it won’t be easy to get all of that glass out of the carpet. And you know you’d feel really bad if the cats got any glass in their little paws.”
Me who is having a meltdown: sputtering, as the skin on my face begins to melt from the heat of my rage.
Meltdown Me: “FINE! I won’t break anything. But,…I can…I can still KICK something. YEAH! I can still kick the crap out of my filing cabinet!”
Adult Me: “Well…”
Me who has had it with the interfering adult: ^#&*((*#^^%$&!: “What now?!”
Adult Me: “I just thought you might want to put on your shoes so you don’t injure yourself. You know you’re not very pleasant when you’re in physical pain.”
Me who is now ripping her hair out in big, giant clumps: “FINE, I will put on my &$*(#)% shoes. Are you HAPPY NOW? Now, will you please get out of my way and let me KICK SOMETHING?!”
Adult Me: “Yeah, you could. But remember that time you threw your shoe at the bedroom wall and it make that big black mark that you had to paint over? Do you really want to repaint your filing cabinet?”
Me who cannot believe what she is hearing: “Why are you still talking?! Why are you still here?! Why won’t you just leave me alone and let me have my meltdown in peace?!”
Adult Me: “All I’m saying is, you get really pissy if you have to paint stuff.”
The Me whose eyes have now begun to bleed: (a series of incomprehensible, guttural sounds.) “OK, I will put this piece of poster board in front of the filing cabinet, so any marks will get on it instead. Now, can I please just kick?!”
Adult Me: “Kick away.”
And so I did.
I am woman. And I know exactly why the caged lion roars.