For the Bible Tells Me So
I am a ragaholic. I can't just do the dishes. I have to punish them. I punish them for punishing me while flagellating them with the scrub brush and flinging them ruthlessly into the dishwasher. If the lock on my door shows the slightest hesitation at unlatching, my wrath descends swiftly and keenly. When Pixie flings her Ragu-coated spaghetti dinner all over my white kitchen carpet, I'm positively apoplectic.
It's not that I'm a fury-filled madwoman. (Well, actually there is the possibility...) But I take seriously that whole Bible bit where we are supposed to be either hot or cold. Nobody liked the lukewarm guy. Sure, there are downsides to extreme emotion, but it beats the heck out of the alternative of rolling with the punches. I say punch back before you end up bloody and bruised in one of life's dark alleyways. So I curse Zeus when I hit a red light, storm out of the room in a huff when the raunchy Paris Hilton Carl's Junior commercial comes on tv, and shriek like a sheik when my baby poops in the tub. It does take a lot more energy than being that comfortable temperature of lukewarm but my poor heart has adjusted to the pace and I'm on a roll.
I can't remember when I wasn't a reactor. Anyone who has spent more than a day with me very quickly learns that fun little game of making me react. It doesn't take much. I remember when I was a teenager and friends started admitting to doing it. I threw a fit. How could someone that I considered a friend manipulate my emotions for sheer sport? But what was I supposed to do? Stop caring? No. So I rant, I rave, I stomp my little feet and occasionally I even break something for good measure. The Bible tells me this is a good thing. It also tells me to publicly stone Pixie for being stubborn about eating her veggies tonight (Deut 21:18-21) but we'll just gloss over that one until she's a teenager.
Spike seems to accepted my passionate nature - although he does give me funny looks when I yell at the stovetop in the kitchen and slander the tight lid on the jar of peaches. He'll thank me someday. I don't know why, but he'll thank me or I'll make him wish he had!
It's not that I'm a fury-filled madwoman. (Well, actually there is the possibility...) But I take seriously that whole Bible bit where we are supposed to be either hot or cold. Nobody liked the lukewarm guy. Sure, there are downsides to extreme emotion, but it beats the heck out of the alternative of rolling with the punches. I say punch back before you end up bloody and bruised in one of life's dark alleyways. So I curse Zeus when I hit a red light, storm out of the room in a huff when the raunchy Paris Hilton Carl's Junior commercial comes on tv, and shriek like a sheik when my baby poops in the tub. It does take a lot more energy than being that comfortable temperature of lukewarm but my poor heart has adjusted to the pace and I'm on a roll.
I can't remember when I wasn't a reactor. Anyone who has spent more than a day with me very quickly learns that fun little game of making me react. It doesn't take much. I remember when I was a teenager and friends started admitting to doing it. I threw a fit. How could someone that I considered a friend manipulate my emotions for sheer sport? But what was I supposed to do? Stop caring? No. So I rant, I rave, I stomp my little feet and occasionally I even break something for good measure. The Bible tells me this is a good thing. It also tells me to publicly stone Pixie for being stubborn about eating her veggies tonight (Deut 21:18-21) but we'll just gloss over that one until she's a teenager.
Spike seems to accepted my passionate nature - although he does give me funny looks when I yell at the stovetop in the kitchen and slander the tight lid on the jar of peaches. He'll thank me someday. I don't know why, but he'll thank me or I'll make him wish he had!
Comments
Yeah, I am not supposed to be driving at night without my glasses, I can hardly see. I thought I was going to die and you were swerving and everything. I am lucky to be alive today to share this experience with others.
FYI, not a reality check either, just a very fond memory. I would say nightmare, but I don't think you can have those while you are awake. I loved living with you Sarah and I would do it again in a heartbeat. So just in case Adam changes his mind, you are always welcome at my house :)