Will’s Thoughts – You know you have anger problems when…
I recently tried to think back over the years to find a time in life, before meeting Alli Everwant, when I was not angry. I simply could not recall a single time in my entire life when I wasn’t. Now, don’t get me wrong, there were tons of moments of love, laughter and fun, but always a cauldron of anger, hotter than lava, bubbled below the surface, waiting to erupt. I was not even a ‘smart’ angry person, in fact, I reckon I was dumber than a fake fence post. I was the idiot that whacks his thumb with a hammer, then gets so mad that he tosses the hammer on the ground, only to have it spring back and perform a vasectomy by Stanley. I now realize that, like not being able to remember a time without anger, I also can’t remember a time when anger really helped make anything better. All anger did was give me darn near as many scars on my body, as I have pores on my skin, and teach me to be internationally fluent in profanity.
In my constant quest to vent my frustrations, I have skinned my knuckles, banged my shins, whacked my head and stubbed my toes. I learned to swear in several languages, and all those trademark moves that athletes make after scoring? Well, they ain’t nothing but an imitation of my contortions after finding another way of injuring myself. Anger’s caused me to zip up parts of my anatomy that I won’t mention, slam my fingers in doors, and to do more to spite myself than all of my enemies combined. It’s caused me say more stupid stuff than I could shake a stick at, and needlessly hurt a lot of folks who I wish I could apologize to. I reckon that if I could go back, and round up all the energy that I have wasted on anger over the years, there’d probably be enough to power a major city for over a decade. If expended all at once, it’d be nothing short of the destruction produced by a cobalt bomb. And, next to the sun’s ultraviolet rays, nothing ages people faster than anger.
Since I have been ‘converted’ to sanity by St. Rollingpin, I have worn a heap less band-aids, kleenex wrapped wounds held with electrical/hockey tape, had a lot less lumps and my bad language is basically restricted to watching hockey. Yes, my simmering anger still lusts for a pair of bazookas attached under my front bumper, side mounted machine guns and a passenger ejection seat, but the extinction of mankind is not on my agenda anymore. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, softer, more empathetic, or, over a decade of domestic therapy by Fräulein Freud has worn me down, but now, anger no longer rules my life. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still a number of folks whom I’d love to help unload from hearses, but my desire to be the reason why has diminished. On another note, oddly the expressions we get when we are angry, are very, very similar to the ones we make in moments of ‘passion’. Is it because we are ‘madly’ in love, or, because there is only so many faces that we can make, and happy already took all the good ones? Do I still succumb to anger? Heck yes. Exactly like a two year who’s told no. Yep, I reckon I’m still prone to the occasional tantrum, but fortunately my memory span is shorter than the diameter of my head, and while the anger spirit remains willing, the flesh has grown weak.