Woke up on the wrong side of the week.

I’ve been feeling more than a little out of sorts these days.  A lot of bad news flying at my head, a lot of low-tolerance-for-everybody threatening to fly out of my mouth (and sometimes succeeding).  I’m not sure I’ve totally come back to myself after the whole Big Ugly that caught me up short in April.

There was a time when I was afraid to have people know I was angry, afraid to show my anger … afraid, really, to feel my anger myself.  That is less and less true.  I do try to hold my tongue when I’m being irrational, or when I’m mostly angry with myself, but I’ve gotten better (not flawless, but better) at expressing my annoyance, my displeasure, my upset, my ire, my rancor, my hot-flush-on-the-back-of-the-neck fury.

But this hasn’t only been a week of being annoyed and angry.  I surprised myself Monday by bursting into tears in the shower.  Yes, I freely admit that I’m a cryer, but it’s never manifested in quite that way — shaking sobs that made me have to stop and hold on until they passed.

And I cried not once, not twice, but three times at work yesterday.  Clearly I’m in need of some kind of release … a vacation, maybe. Or perhaps a valium.

The work-crying was good, however; I have to say.  By the end of the last flare up, all was well.  My even temper and feeling of ease were restored.  But I hate when things like this get in my way and I can’t seem to stop them, to pull back and change course.  And yes, if I wait long enough I slide back to normal, but a whole week of angry-grey-Stacie is no fun for me.


I have, of course, continued to churn out the tanka.  And really churn, like through a meat grinder.  I’m not loving any of the ones I wrote this week, but I’m sharing them all the same.  So here, in no particular order, are most of the tanka I wrote between Friday of last week and today:

my fifteen minutes
sitting under the hot lights
my real smile’s gone fake
not what I had imagined
I’m not the actress I’d thought

his ringtone jolts us
a busload of sharp recoils
then his quick, loud voice
peaceful, early ride ruined
we frown through his every word

still holding this pain
this hurt won’t scab, heal over
these tears feel wasted
crying changes, helps, nothing
time, now, to find a new dream

sweat stands on my skin
my moisture-thick hair blooms full
here I am myself
in this lush, green, hot, wet place
alive as I’ve ever been

cotton tree surprise
my brain can’t hold onto this
old idea shatters
cotton tree shakes her white head
no need to ‘jump down’ with her


10 thoughts on “Woke up on the wrong side of the week.

  1. just remember what audre said about transforming silence into language and action–you have the *right* to express any and every emotion, and you’re caring enough not to want to wound others aimlessly. I’m glad you’re back, the poems are great…you made it to the other side…


    1. Thanks, Zetta. I still have a ways to go with in the expressing-the-full-range-of-my-emotions area, it’s true. I will keep Audre in mind. This blog was supposed to be a place where I could vent. If I’m not venting here or in my actual day-to-day … well, something’s gotta give!


  2. Sometimes what you are crying about has nothing to do with what you think you are crying about. I stalled out the vehicle that I was driving in the rain one day, and just started crying and sobbing. When I started thinking about it, I was crying because my grandmother had died a month before but I had never cried, sometimes the initial thing is a catalyst but not the real reason. You have been have some emotional times in the past year so maybe it is all catching up with you.
    It’s better to cry or get angry than to let it simmer inside, it will come out no matter what you want.
    I hope you figure it all out and feel like yourself again soon. The poetry is wonderful.


    1. Thanks, Theresa. I’m glad you like the poems. You’re so right about tears coming when they will, for reasons that don’t always present themselves immediately. And, too, you’re right that it’s better to let my feelings out than to let them ‘simmer inside’ (much nicer description than ‘fester’ which is what I’d have said).


  3. molly

    I love the glimpse into your inner life that the poems give me. I once cried so loud and so hard that the neighbors came out on the balcony asking each other who could possibly be so desperate. It happens. Right now there is a kid screaming his/her head off down in the street. Full expression!
    Hang on.


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