la colère

by jemma margaret

To paraphrase Mark Twain:

The coldest winter I have ever spent was a May in Paris.

I write to you wearing mukluks, two pairs of socks, two sweaters, a scarf, and a wool blanket draped over my shoulders. I am brewing a cup of chai tea to warm my insides too.

If you have spoken to me lately, then you know that I am foot stomping fist shaking angry about the weather. Perhaps you have tried to calm me down, this is nothing to get upset over, soon you’ll be in a full fledged New York July.

But I think it’s okay to be irrationally mad every so often. Just like it’s okay to be sad and it’s okay to be happy. Part of the human experience.

What makes me even more furious then steady rain and gray skies is a certain song featuring a tropical drink. The other day in a perfectly innocent context the conversation turned to piña coladas. To which I gave a very long winded explanation that I would probably only want a piña colada if I was at a beach, it was hot, I was in need of electrolytes, and the food options were mediocre. That was the last word on the subject, but ever since then I have been plagued by Jimmy Buffet.

I hate this song so much! What is this guy’s problem? Why are the lyrics so catchy? In the alternative version I make up in my head (that is tuneless and rhymeless) his “lady” kicks him out since he has become obese from tropical drink indulgence while she has become svelte from practicing yoga. As he steps outside carrying his bag of clothes a downpour begins. Now who likes getting caught in the rain, mister?

Ahem.

A better strategy for dealing with anger than yelling at fictional characters is to exercise. Lately, I have been doing some core strengthening every other evening and it is really very soothing. For one, I am instantly warmed up. For two, the strategy of these various exercises seems mostly based around the principle of almost but not quite falling over and counting at the same time. This requires focus, which happily crowds out concerns over whether it will rain again tomorrow.

So there am I, red faced and stumbling over while trying not to think of certain combinations of coconuts and pineapples. To quote Mark Twain precisely:

Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.

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