The Persistence of Rage III

I would like to be rid of it
the roiling furnace

the impulse

I do not act

but I desire to act

like a wave, I ride

the crashing fantasies

the turmoil

the compulsion

to boil over

to spill

I do not act

but I desire to act

I would prefer

to be ever desireless

wrapped in coolness

and calm

The Persistence Of Rage II

The old man steps on my shoe
which prompts an explosion of fantasies
berating and belittling the stranger
tripping him, kicking the offending kneecap
lunging across the train car
eyes bulging, grasping his coat lapels

thrusting my maw at him, teeth bared and grinning
screaming and spitting into his face

roaring, that he and the other passengers might know fear

the visions pass, recede, and I do nothing

sit in silence, patiently waiting for my stop

the anger gone but never vanquished.

Romantic Conflict

Recently some friends told me some things they've said to their partners when they were fighting that kind of shocked me in how combative they were. After asking around it seems its not too out of the norm for people to lash out in their LTR in this way when arguing.

To me the idea of telling my partner to "fuck off" or deliberately being condescending, insulting, or pointedly angry is pretty out there. Walks, if not totally obliterates, the line of dysfunction. But that's me and the way I operate in a relationship is different than what works for other people. Some people need the conflict to air out resentments and fears they may not have been capable of voicing outside the context of a fight. Sometimes that personality clash, that emotional explosion, is necessary, its cathartic. As long as there is resolution, as long as communication is ongoing, as long as it works, who am I to judge. Ultimately it's just a matter of perspective and viewing any situation like 'this is the way I do it and therefore that is categorically correct' is not only wrong its self-centered to the extreme.

I use to be a pretty angry guy, unpredictable with SO's, friends, and strangers alike in when I would vent my temper. Part of that was just who I was, the only way I knew to express emotion, maybe my preferred method for doing so. The other part of why I acted like that, operated out of a baseline of fear that came out as anger was because of my addiction. After I got sober I did, and still do, a lot of work on changing my behavior, how I process my feelings, and how I react to people and situations. What that amounts to is basically building in a pause(or attempting to) between my initial emotional reaction to things and when I respond. Feeling my feelings and then examining my initial response before speaking it aloud. With potential arguments or stressful situations my initial response is almost always rude or combative or counterproductive or all three. And so most times I don't. I say nothing, I walk away, I take some time and put together a constructive response.

Yesterday Nicole and I both got home late and were hungry. When I was getting out of the shower she asked me to clean out the drain more frequently. My head immediately went to tallying the various chores we do to keep the apartment in order and, of course, painted myself as the one who shouldered the majority of the burden and fanned the flames of my offense that she would even ask me that given all the other stuff I do. What I said was "OK" and walked away. After I had eaten I realized I didn't really care, the reality was that I'd be happy to take an extra ten seconds to wipe some toilet paper over the drain. We talked it out a bit more and it was all good. If I had lashed out, she would have most likely responded in kind, the conversation wouldn't have really gone any where, and it would have taken the evening maybe even the next day or two for the tension to dissipate. But that's us.

We all communicate in our own particular ways that work for us. Some more combative than others, some more reserved than others. But the important thing is to do the communicating. To put thought to voice, to listen and attempt some mutual understanding. Bottled up issues turn into resentments so its important to talk about those things we want or need or believe before they boil over. The other side of it is a discussion or suggestion or request isn't necessarily an attack or judgement even though it can feel that way. It's tough. But as long as you try, as long as you keep the conversation going, however imperfectly, you can emerge on the other end better partners. It's silence that can be the relationship killer.

Aftershocks

The past couple weeks I've been doing a sketch show at Second City, performing in the directors showcase for Craig, the prospective directors put up an hour long sketch show as their final project. It's been a fun experience, I haven't done a sketch show in almost five years so it's been fun to use those muscles again and the cast is people I hadn't known previously, mostly younger than me, so that has been invigorating in a way, working with people that, compared to me, have a relatively fresh perspective. The show itself I think is good, not groundbreaking but funny and well executed. Ultimately it's not really exactly my cup of tea anymore, I'm more interested in more personal emotional stories, more interested in narratives. Even so it's been a good experience.

Even though I told them it wasn't terribly important my parents were going to come to the show tonight and bring some other family members. They got a late start then got caught in traffic and ended up missing the show arriving shortly after it was done. Now running late is something that is typical in my family, you have to give most family events an additional hour leeway, its mostly understood. I know this but for whatever reason they're missing this show, something not out of character or much of a surprise, really upset me. There were other factors but basically I felt I was justified and was pretty prickly with them. We had dinner, they left, and the rest of evening I was still spinning about it, cycling through all the ways I felt I had been put in a position and not taken into consideration. But the reality is that all that anger, all that energy, had no purpose, no benefit, was only continuing to make me feel bad.

This past week was tough at work so I was pretty worn down and I think that contributed to my being more sensitive than usual but whether the feeling or the reaction was reasonable or not its immaterial. Perhaps if you're a boxer or talking to a Comcast customer service rep or slamming weights at the gym anger can be good but more often than not in actual day-to-day living its just poison.

Part of the issue in this instance was just lack of communication on both sides and that part of it can be worked on, clearer plans and expectations set. But things happen and for me I have to unpack why I reacted the way I did, honestly look at it, and do what I can to let go of whatever resentment I may still be carrying. I thought any issues I had with my family had been resolved and I thought I was pretty balanced in that department with healthy boundaries set but maybe that's not the case and it's my responsibility to look at my part. What unreasonable, unvoiced expectations have I put on them, what past perceived transgressions have I held on to. I need to figure that out and let go of whatever I find, move forward. Then in the moment that this kind of thing occurs I need to remember, no matter how tired or irritated I may be, to take a minute to breathe, be present, and let go of desired outcome. To remember that some situations although not ideal can be enjoyed if you allow yourself to do so.

Tranquil Or Meek

Last night Nicole and I went to Willie Nelson at Ravina, all-in-all a nice evening. A great venue, cool to see Willie, old but still playing, good to get out and do something a little different. However the night started with an odd, potentially night-killer type interaction.

For a long time I had quite a temper, unable or unwilling to put up much resistance whenever I felt anger, justified or otherwise. It got me into a lot of trouble over the years and strained or alienated a lot of people I had relationships with. When I got sober it's something I worked(and work) a lot on. Not lashing out, feeling and processing emotions rather than stewing, letting go as opposed to fostering resentment, communicating rather than arguing. And for the most part I'm successful, most things don't bother me much anymore, things pop up but I'm mostly able to pause and let go and not react. But that's the thing, sometimes letting something go isn't the right thing to do.

A couple months back Nicole and I had an interaction with a door guy where he made some inappropriate comments, totally out-of-line, and neither her or I really reacted, just felt bad, were made to feel small by this guy. Afterward we talked about it and we felt like we should have said something, as difficult as it may have been it was important to say something and we didn't.

So, we took the Metra up to Ravina and while we were getting off the train this guy and the woman he was with were behind us. I heard him say "Get over it hon, it's the weekend" and then something else, more aggressive and sharp in tone. Nicole was behind me and I wasn't sure who he was talking to, remembering our interaction with the door guy I thought if he was saying these vaguely threatening things to Nicole it was important I say something. I turned around and said "Are you talking to us?" Clearly drunken, with blood-shot eyes the guy said "I'm not talking to you. But I can be." I felt a crash of adrenaline, nerves electrified, ready to fight, an old but familiar feeling. I knew that if I said anything else the situation would escalate needlessly. I turned and we kept walking and he said something else under his breath. After we were out of the train and separated from the disembarking passengers Nicole told me he was talking to some lady on the train and then the poor lady he was with. Ultimately it didn't matter and I didn't really need to say anything to him in the first place. The guy was drunk and irascible, rude and unpleasant looking for an altercation but not worth engaging with.

Point being there are times to pause and be silent and let things go, most times I think. The potential for violence or confrontation almost never has any value. But there are times when it's important to stand up and say something, when threats or denigration or abuse are not to be tolerated. The trick is knowing the difference, something I continue to try and figure out.

Street Talk 27

After work, outside a bodega. A drunk man crouches two feet in front of the door talking to himself.

Drunk Man: Wha we got...Hmmm...is that...

As I open the door and start to walk in the Drunk Man lunges into the door way with me. For a moment we're scrunched in the door frame shoulder to shoulder. Partly my momentum and partly a wave of anger propel me forward and jostle him in the process. Essentially forcing my way in first. I immediately regret it but it happens so quick I don't know how to respond.

Drunk Man:(seemingly much more sober, standing by the entrance shuffling through his bags) What? You think you tough? You think you strong? You ain't that strong.

I stand in line to buy cigarettes looking straight ahead not saying anything.

Drunk Man: I'm ready. You want me to teach you something, you want me to show you something. Who are you, you nothing. You ain't that big, I'd whop you easy. I'm right here. You in some big rush. Everyone in a rush.

He continues to make vague threats as he rummages through his bags, presumably finding whatever he came back in to the store for. As he leaves he makes a big show of holding the door for two people who are entering. As if to, justly, shame me for my rudeness.

After I purchase my smokes I walk home feeling gross. Dirty. Certainly the Drunk Man was off putting and perhaps deliberately antagonistic but everyone deserves respect regardless of their condition. There is no benefit in being baited to matching unpleasantness with the same. Acting out of anger or aggression, lashing out, is never satisfying. There is no righteousness in it even if in the moment there is some fleeting justification.

Although distressing it is a good reminder. Whether on a commute, dealing with people professionally, friends, collaborators, total strangers, what-have-you it is better to be gracious, kind, and forgiving. It makes for a much happier life.

Movie Theater Ettiquette

It seems in this our vaulted digital age some basic civilities have dissipated. Namely personal space and politeness. If you'll indulge the age-old gripe it seems with our technological advances our ability or interest in treating others with respect has waned. We seem to be ignorant in public spaces of proximity to each others bodies, perhaps a result of chronic device use shifting focus from the outside world within, and those age old words "please" "thank you" and "excuse me" seem endangered. And sure however dated and devoid of meaning these arbitrary phrases may be at the very least they indicate a modicum of consideration.

I acknowledge that I'm most likely hyper sensitive of these various indiscretions in the movie theater as it is a place of reverence for me. A place of solace and adventure, of comfort and belonging. Which all can be shattered by the inconsiderate. Which brings us to yesterday evening.

At the AMC River East in a small theater, the 9:50pm screening of Kubo and the Two Strings. The audience was surprisingly packed. Always early as to not miss previews or appropriate seating Nicole and I were situated with a single seat on either side. After the protracted introduction and fifteen minutes of previews the movie began. At the same time three gangly foreign tourist 12-year-old boys with backpacks stuffed-to-bursting lumbered in to the theater.

As the opening credits rolled for the emotional stop-action flick two of them walked to the center of the row we were sitting in and asked the couple to our left to move, which they did. The third after his buds had seated walked in front of us and said "Can you move". Nicole quickly acquiesced. "No problem" she said. The small ember of anger ignited by their oblivious tardiness blossomed into an incendiary bonfire of rage. God. How dare they.

As the boy stood in front of me I waited a calculated fifteen seconds then said "Unreal". I got up and purposely crowded him as I passed and nudged him with my shoulder. As the movie progressed I calmed but throughout the running time the three checked their phones, laughed at emotional moments, loudly snacked on full size bags of potato chips, and guzzled soda from two liters.

At the end of the film, during the poignant resolution one of the three got up to stand in the entrance and take a call. As we exited I made a point to crowd him and give him a shoulder nudge. I was righteous in my passive-aggression. I was imparting a lesson.

Which is idiocy of course. It is most probable these three didn't even notice my behavior. Or if they did took it in stride as American attitude. It certainly didn't faze them. It was laughable.

For a long time I was an angry guy and I've mostly come to terms with it, put that part of myself behind me. Learned how to let go of small grievances and large irritants. But every now again it comes bubbling back. And every now and again I give it an outlet however slight. And almost always it is comic rather than sinister. Impotent rather than reasonable. And I'm reminded how futile fury can be.

The Persistence Of Rage

Tech guy,
last week
I was incensed
during our cue to cue
by your backhanded way
of calling me
and my fellow cast mates
idiots
unreal in and of itself
doubly so given your
ineptitude, your pretension
and unconscious fatuousness.
The comment made me angry
but I vented frustration
through the inflection of my lines
I did not lash out or walk away
although my nerves were screaming
for retaliation.
I tried to keep my distance,
detach and let go,
only mildly successful
I stewed the remainder of the evening
unable to shake the desire for some just desserts.

Last night
reenergized and hopeful
determined to avoid you
the show went better than ever
and after
while mopping the stage
I smiled to myself, satisfied and contented
this feeling, fleeting
was soon disseminated
by you
Tech guy
who waddled onto the 1/10 of the stage
still left to clean
and like some
insufferable boarding school upperclassman
began to point down at the four by four square
of unmopped stage you were standing in
saying "There's a spot, there, there, there."
and oh the flood gates opened.
And hot rage, like liquid fire, almost drowned me.
My body began to hum and quiver like a boiler- pressure building.
But I leveraged my will and stood there waiting for you to move.
You did not. Only kept pointing out the same spots
as if you were a schoolmarm and I some witless child.
I barked out the only thing I could "I'm. Not. Done. Yet."
And thankfully
for your sake as well as mine
you finally walked away.

My temper, once a defining trait, I thought left behind
still plagues me from time to time.
And although not as vicious or volatile as it once was
it still lingers, requiring diligence and care.
For wrath is good for nothing save destruction,
an acidic conflagration of pride, aggression, and fear.

All The Small Things

It is easy to be cruel.
On the crosswalk.
In the car.
At the restaurant.
It is easy to lash out
at all the perceived inconveniences
infractions and impositions.
How dare the world impede
on our plans and routine.
Honking horns, flicking fingers,
shouting expletives is an easy way
to relieve the pressure of the
egregious interference
of other people.
But all this poison spitting
only serves to multiply
the already ingrained
and bubbling aggression
of our neutral state.
Only serves to propagate
the innate mode of attack
we enter when exiting our homes.
Only serves to further spread
negativity and suspicion
which eat at us and them,
acid slowly eroding our contentment.

The world is but a loose and flowing garment
and all the small things but motes of dust temporarily caught on the sleeve
easily brushed off or ignored, unworthy of attention or astringent emotion.

To Break

I often wonder when
a man first smashed his fist
into another man's face
breaking teeth and bone
when I'm sweating and cramped
on a crowded train
and a pretentious suit
barks his entitlement
jabs his elbows
and petulantly glowers.

I think of that first punch
that must have been thrown
millennia ago
as I clench my mitt
prepping my pivot
to maximize the blow
and bring justice
with a shattered jaw-
how simpler things were
on those dry and barren plains.

A Fable About Rage

There once was a badger who liked things in a particular way.
His territory just so.
His burrow just so.
His meals just so.
His fur, just so sleek.
His claws, just so sharp.
He got up at the same time every morning.
He went to bed at the same time every night.
He was lonely but content.
Everything had its purpose.
Everything had its place.
One day a clan of squirrels came to live in the tree atop the badger's burrow.
He did not like this.
They scuffed his grass.
They scratched his trees.
Their incessant chatter filled his peaceful glade.
The squirrels tried to be friends with the badger but he ignored them.
He went about his routines pretending as if they were not there.
All the while something hot and dark began to grow inside him.
Over time a thousand little irritants stoked this little spark.
His anger, bottled up and never spoken, built into a great and consuming fire.
One day while on his morning walk a squirrel accidentally dropped an acorn on his head.
At that moment the fire was given shape, form, and deadly purpose.
It burned.
For some time the quiet of the forest was broken.
Coming from the shaded glade were screeches, whines, pleas, and groans.
Time passed and cruel Nature did her worst.

The badger wept.
His sleek coat now sticky and matted.
His bright claws now stained and dull.
Surrounded by tufts of fur, blood, and bone.
He met grief and shame and bottomless regret.

Awareness & Acceptance

Since getting sober one of the things I've been taught and cultivated is a sense of self-awareness. Developed habits to pause before reacting in anger or frustration, to investigate the origin of feelings of discomfort, to bounce ideas and decisions off of others in order to clearly see motivations, destinations, and ramifications.

One of the most clear cut and institutional feeling tools is the acronym H.A.L.T.(hungry, angry, lonely, tired). An easy way to give yourself a quick once over if you're feeling restless or irritable. Sometimes the solution is as easy as a snack, company, or a nap. The key is simply getting in the habit of investigating how you're feeling if you find yourself acting unreasonably or saying mean stuff or generally doing things that are out of character for you that you may come to regret. If you can create a small window of reflection between thought and action you can generally live in a happier, more tranquil way.

This idea extends beyond immediate physical and emotional concerns to broader instances and circumstances. For example, currently I feel a bit over committed, there's a thing I'm apart of that I'm not getting much joy or fulfillment from that I'm thinking about quitting. Instead of making a snap decision I've talked to a couple people, flushed out my feelings, desires, and responsibility regarding this commitment, and got some suggestions and some guidance on how to proceed. After getting others' perspectives I can move forward with a lot more confidence and comfort than had I made some quick emotional decision and then immediately regretted it which was my MO in the past. By breaking down the how and why of a situation with another person I can get a clearer idea of what the right path is.

The other thing I've tried to work on is an attitude of acceptance. For a long time control, or more accurately the illusion of control, ruled a lot of what I did. I wanted to control people and situations, I wanted the world around me to conform to my selfish wants. I discovered this was not only impossible to do but an untenable way to live.

I can only control myself. I always feel my emotions but I can choose to process them and react with either grace or ugliness. I can walk through my life stomping and affronted or lightly and contented. Through practice, discipline, and guidance the choice is now mine to make.

I Am The One Who Knocks

there is an eerie pause
before the rolling thunder cracks,
the coiled snake strikes,
the stalking lion lunges,
before two men collide.

fear sparks on skin
the world slows yet speeds
thoughts of death pull lips
into dry grins
prescience of metallic blood
fill nostrils
chaotic desperation clashes
with savage glee.

there is comfort in destruction,
seduction in violent acts.

The Subtlety Of Feeling

When I was drinking my emotional range was limited: elation, despair, rage. They didn't mix and although I felt each with some depth it was never terribly complicated. I used my dependable and constant friend Jim Beam to dampen and curb any other feelings, channeled them into my three acceptable modes of operation. To make things simple, to make them manageable, to curb my constant fear. When I was active in my addiction there was no texture to my mental state, no nuance, no variety, no range. I numbed out because I didn't know how to deal, all emotion, on some level, was too overwhelming to deal with.

A therapist once told me you stop maturing when you start using. That your emotional development is suspended by heavy use of drugs and alcohol. I certainly found that to be the case for me. Two years ago upon getting sober I felt like I had been reborn. Not in a religious sense but in the sense that almost all feelings and experiences were new. I had to learn and sometimes relearn how to navigate and deal with situations, people, and emotions I had never encountered with a clear head before. It's been a sometimes difficult, frequently surprising, always fulfilling journey.

This past week has been a rough one. A situation outside my control and experience has brought on a torrent of complicated and confusing emotions. Many feelings bound together- grief, regret, sadness, hope, absurdity, community. Each existing simultaneously with the others. None of them glaring and steady but each subtle and mystifying, flaring at times then cooling. Humming quietly but not diminishing.

As a sober man I have no recourse with substance. I cannot cushion or escape, I have to feel. It can be taxing or bewildering, being overwhelmed with this parade of emotional colors, but ultimately I am grateful. I have prayer, mediation, and many loving people I can talk to. I have the ability to feel my feelings, I no longer sit in fear of them. I can be present in this moment which seems so large and uncertain. Work through the shadows and shades of my feelings, participate and process, stand firm and witness. Be there for others to lean on and lean on them in return.

Big Dome

With World Cup fever running rampant, I'm reminded of my high school soccer days. I originally wanted to play football because all I really wanted out of sports was violent contact. I went out for football my freshman year having never played before and not knowing anyone on the team. About half way through the all day practice they gave us equipment. I got pads but they couldn't find a helmet that fit me, my head was too big. The other guys called me Big Dome the rest of the day. I didn't go back.

After the football failure I went out for soccer. I knew the sport and some of my friends were on the team. I was a fat kid, didn't have much endurance but I had a good foot, a good sprint, and I was very aggressive. I was on JV all four years but I played up a couple times if they needed someone to come on and bust some heads.

I brought my thirst for contact into soccer which isn't a contact sport. I would slide tackle and check opponents with little regard for who had the ball or where it was. I vividly remember one time a guy had a break away and I sprinted towards our goal to catch him outdistancing my teammates. I knew I didn't have the finesse to steal the ball so I just flattened the guy. My dad said later "he was suckin' sod." Another time one of the other players was hassling one of my teammates, my buddy Aaron, he pushed him down, checked him, or was talking trash or something. I just saw red, charged across the field and tackled the guy after the the ref had blown the whistle. While I was pushing the guys head into the grass I said "You got a fucking problem meet me after the game." That was my first ejection. I waited for him in the parking lot but he didn't show.

My junior and senior year I held the NIC-9(our division) record for most penalty cards in a season. I may still. The school I went to didn't have great sports teams. Not only would we frequently get trounced on the score boards, the other teams talked a lot of trash. I figured if the other guys were going to win I'd make them earn it. Not through athleticism but through blunt force trauma. I got a yellow card in almost every game and a couple reds.

I don't watch sports and I don't miss soccer. But all the World Cup talk brings back the memories of a couple incredibly satisfying hits.

Mean Face

Growing up I got bullied. The middle school and high school I went to were pretty rough. It taught me to present myself in a certain way. To appear tough, to appear big, to appear mean, to appear ready. All in order to be ignored, left alone. The residual effect is that my neutral face, the face I make when I don't intend to be making a face at all, is a mean face.

Some people have told me they didn't like me when they first met me. I'm told I can initially strike people as distant, intimidating, and angry. It doesn't help that I'm a little reserved when meeting people. But that passes and any first impressions, mine and theirs, are usually wrong. I blame any confusion on the mean face. Seemingly only in job interviews is my expressionless extremely serious mug appropriate.

There are some benefits. Twice in the past month I've been with Tisher when he has been stopped, cornered, and prosthelytized to. He told me it happens to him often. He also gets harassed by pamphleteers and the can-you-spare-a-moment people. I rarely get approached at all. No one has ever asked me if I accepted Christ into my heart.

My long ago "don't fuck with me" defense has faded but not vanished. At this point I wouldn't want it to, it's part of who I am.

If you see me from across the room and you think "wow, that guy looks like an asshole" remember its not me, its just my face.

Nastiness

I don't enjoy being nasty to people. I doubt most people do. But sometimes the pressure of the daily grind, the cold, or city living get a whole lot of emotions percolating and you need an outlet.

This week has been particularly grating. Talking to and receiving a substantial amount of scornful animosity from women creeping into old age. I've been taking, what feels like, a disproportional amount of calls from sour, bitter, unhappy, angry, entitled, unreasonable old ladies. Interacting with them is poisonous. I can feel their attitudes infecting me and I feel the impetus to lash out. It's unpleasant. I don't like feeling angry and don't like to be put in a position where I interact with aggression.

The feelings get stirred up and have to go somewhere. You have to release the pressure or the boiler explodes. Humor is the solvent. I've got friends with sharp and wicked senses of humor and a couple times this week used them as conduits to alleviate the bad juju. I can say nasty things to Tisher, not at him but about others or in general, biting things, tee off on this or that and say things I have no belief in, and he can laugh and commiserate without judgement, and there's no residue, it's forgotten. I chatted with Brunlieb a couple times this week and jokingly confronted him and challenged him about a couple things. He's got a considerable dark streak hidden under his unassuming lovable exterior and we went back and forth saying, what could be considered, some hateful shit. It was all in fun, or if not all was of no consequences, reflected no genuine malice.

It's nice to have friends you can rail at or to. The world can be an ugly place and no matter how hard you try to have it roll off your back it can effect you. It's good to have a place to channel that negativity, to dissipate it with laughs, to let yourself go with someone safe, to revel in it for a moment then let it go.

Don't keep it to yourself, don't revel in it for long. Negativity is toxic and thrives in the dark, secret, lonely places.

An Open Letter to the Guy Who Clogged the Toilet at Work

Dear Toilet Paper Addict,

Well, it happened again. I swung open the door to the handicapped stall here at work - the most spacious one of the four, up against the wall so there's only one neighboring stall - to see a sickening mass of wet, soiled toilet paper choking the bowl. Disgusted, I turned away and took one of the less desirable stalls.

This is not the first time I've seen your handiwork. Seems like at least once a week the toilet is wrecked. Are you to blame every time, or are there multiple offenders? I hope we don't have more than one person here who so grossly misjudges how much toilet paper even a commercial toilet can handle in a single flush. If you are the sole perpetrator, how is it you haven't learned from your mistakes?

I wonder if you're the one I heard wiping yourself a few weeks ago. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. First the metallic clicking of the toilet paper roll being advanced, then what sounded like a piece of wood being sanded. Back and forth, back and forth, multiple wipes with the same handful of paper! Again and again the roll was pulled, with no flushing in between. What were you doing in there? How many times must you wipe yourself before you feel clean? How many rolls do you go through a day at home?

I should bang on the door of your stall as I hear it happening. "Hey! What are you doing in there?! Knock it off!!" You deserve to be shamed not only for your bizarre obsessive-compulsive ass-cleaning ritual, but because every time you clog the toilet, you just walk away and leave it for the rest of us to see and for one of the janitors to deal with. It's not their job to clean up after grown men who behave like recently potty trained three-year-olds.

I will find you, I will expose you, and no amount of wiping will remove your shame.

Regards,
Ryan McClelland

You can find Ryan's excellent blog about fatherhood and family life here.

Pooka

On the way to The Night Shift tonight I realized I needed gas. At the same moment I saw a young woman driving a late 90's Honda Civic. She was slightly hunched over the steering wheel and her long light brown hair was almost brushing it, her face hidden. The image of the woman and the thought of gas brought something up from the past and I momentarily lost the present.

Before I had my licence my high school girlfriend would always drive us around. She had a white two door SUV with the licence plate "Pooka". Whenever we would stop for gas she would religiously, almost ritualistically, open her glove compartment and turn off her phone. If I had my phone on me she would not get out of the car until I had turned mine off as well. After a while it started to irritate and eventually enrage me. I'd sit in the car fuming because of the minute or two she would take to turn off her phone.

She did it because her mom told her to. Her mom had read some article about a cell phone exploding at a gas station or maybe even an article about that being something that could happen. At 16 she didn't rock the boat, never rebelled, got along great with her parents. Me at 15 could not understand her attitude and was constantly exasperated when she refused to stay out past curfew or lie about where she was going. Her obeying her mother in the minutiae of turning off her phone while at the gas station became an emblem for me of her obedience. I frequently instigated arguments about it, needling her until she would engage.

I came back to the present gradually. Stunned by the vividness of the memory. Part of me wishes I could go back and do it all over again. Not to relive my youth or the glories of my past.

To put things right.

Street Talk 14

I'm riding my bike on the sidewalk the one block from house to Montrose where I'll get on the street. Up ahead is a woman with a 2 year old boy. He's weaving all around the sidewalk awkwardly walking and delighting in it. I smile and hop over to the grass to ride past them and give them the whole sidewalk to maneuver on. The kid stumbles and sits down when I'm about 10 feet away, it's clear he has not seen me or processed my presence, he stumbled over his own feet. As I pass.

Woman: Gee onm thhh fffeeerr rrrrraaa. diii ssss a chiiiii.

She's not mumbling she's just not talking loudly, I thinking she's talking to the kid and I smile at them. It takes me about 10 seconds and 50 feet to process that she actually said "Get on the fucking road. This is a child." At first I'm hit with a cold bucket of shame. I should have stopped and walked the bike. I didn't mean to frighten her and I clearly didn't frighten the kid. Wish she would have known that I was in total control and I thought I was more than far enough away. I think of going back to apologize.

Then I'm hit with a wave of rage. Who the fuck does this lady think she is? I was six feet away from her and her kid. Does she think she owns the sidewalk? Where does she think she's living? This is Chicago, the big fucking City, if you want your kid to have a bubble of safety around him move out to fucking Winnetka. Not only that, this is Uptown off the Wilson Redline stop, not a consummate neighborhood for safety. I think of going back and asking her to repeat herself, think of intimidating her, telling her to move, asking her if she's got a problem and then letting her know I'm her fucking problem.

Needless to say I don't do either. I realize, while she was saying it, all I did was pleasantly smile at her. That's the appropriate reaction, most likely her overprotective mothering instincts just flared up or she had a bad day or she's going through a divorce or break up or she's hungry or she's tired. Whatever it is it's not me and I have no control over it. I look at the shame and the rage and the different hypotheticals, I realize their utter uselessness, take a deep breath and let them go out into the ether.

I continue riding my bike to meet Tisher where we will in the near future share a small plate of extremely sloppy yet delicious lobster stuffed deviled eggs.