Why the hell not? I blog Angry all the time and find that lots of people can relate to it, because the world is a pretty angrifying place. I get angry about television shows, politicians, millionaire douchebags who think they’re politicians, scientific advancements, hilarious things I get in the mail – you name it.
And it turns out, so do other people – no matter what I decide to freak out about, there are people out there who are freaking out about it, too.
It’s like planning bank heists – if that’s something you keep thinking about, then you’re better off writing crime fiction than actually trying to pull off a real heist. Get it out of your system. I know that’s what I did (and you’d know that if you’d read that book over there, punk), and the cool thing about fictionally robbing banks, is you can make sure you get away with it.
Your character might not get away with it, but at least you will. And also, you won’t have that Telltale Heart thing going on, where you feel so guilty that you eventually confess to make the voices stop. Naw, just make your character a cool-as-ice- sociopath. Problem solved.
Blogging angry is kind of similar – the anger isn’t going to do you any good, stewing inside you like a rich, meaty broth. But it might actually do some good, out on the Internet as a Picture of Angry, so other people can look at it and sigh and say, “Man, I get angry about that, too. I’m glad I’m not the only one.”
When I went off on the end of LOST, I heard from hundreds of people who told me, wow, that is exactly what I wanted to say and I didn’t know how, but I’m exactly as angry as you in exactly the same way, and thank you for helping me deal with it. I needed that.
You’re welcome. I’m pretty sure I needed it, too.
And right now, I’m sitting in a parking lot, where, after a really crappy four or five hours of not getting paid very well for a job gone completely sideways, I went ahead and locked my keys in my car. Screw you Future Tom, said Two Minutes Ago Tom.
I mean, there they are, on my seat – Hi, Keys!
And man, I was so angry that I took three deep breaths and then I very nearly and calmly picked up a brick and put out my window. Screw you, Current Situation, Two Minutes Ago Tom was “thinking.”
Because I don’t want to alarm you, but I have stuff to do. I know, it hardly makes sense – if that’s the case then why am I always blogging?
I don’t know, Smarty. But you’re the one reading it, so don’t get too proud of yourself.
Anyway, I never leave my laptop in the car, not ever – which I think we can all agree would be a wise policy for my keys, as well – so anyway I had the laptop, and I had my phone. You might say, I had two pieces of futuristic technology that would have seemed magic when I was a kid.
Yes, but that Physical Key Technology, from circa 1950. Too bad I didn’t have that, yes indeed. If only we had a wheelbarrow..
So I used one of the magic, futuristic devices to call the Tall Girl – Hey, you, hop up, grab the spare key off the Key Frog and get in your car. Here’s how you get to where I am, start driving.
Then I took the other piece of futuristic technology and walked over to a bench under a tree and said to myself, I’m angry enough to throw a brick through my window, and mostly I’m angry because of how paralyzingly (literally) stupid this was.
When I was a kid, I remember writing a short paper about an old saying that didn’t make sense. I chose “Never cry over spilled milk,” and my rationale was, if you spill milk, then you have failed at one of the simplest tasks a human being can undertake. There are monkeys who could pour a glass of milk without spilling it, but you just screwed it up. Get on the floor and weep while you’re cleaning that up, genius.
And of course that’s not really the point of the saying – the point is that the milk is spilled and your tears are irrelevant to that immutable fact. Clean it up and move on.
So, kind of cool that I went from ready to arbitrarily destroy something to sitting in the weeds blogging angry about it, to gradually understanding that the stupid part is in the past. The smart thing to do now is accept it and make use of the time that I lost, by getting that blog post up and doing it without yelling at the blogosphere about my keys – it’s not your fault, dudes.
Ah, and there’s the Tall Girl – got right in her car and drove here with no questions asked. No problem.
I don’t know about you, but I feel better.