October 11, 2016
11:22 p.m.

I wrote a thing yesterday, and I said what I was thinking and got it all off my chest.

Then I deleted it.

Look, I'm pretty devoted to keeping MeThinks positive and upbeat, and that was just not my mindset yesterday--or recently, for that matter (did you see my rant against Denver's RoxyTheatre? So not nice or upbeat!) Things were bleak, my friends. Bleak.

I was writing about things I don't actually care to share, because a stupid man said stupid things and made me remember all the other stupid men I've encountered and all the stupid things I've put up with from those stupid men. This because I was too young, or too scared or too stupid myself to put a quick and firm stop to it.

Apparently, I don't tolerate stupid well. Not anymore. I'm older, I'm wiser, I'm tougher and I'm just not going to take it anymore.

So I ranted and then I hit the delete button.

This is nothing new for me. I used to do this in a handwritten journal, and then tear the rant to shreds and throw it away. The delete button is neater, faster and saves paper.

I call this a bitch fest. It's been good for me over the years. I can yell, scream, cuss, give whoever needs a piece of my mind a severe tongue lashing--and no one gets their feelings hurt. I never have to say I'm sorry or try to take anything back. Just "DELETE". It's all off my chest and in the garbage.

I can't say for absolute sure who taught me to do this, but I'm nearly certain it was a Junior High English teacher who I loved a lot. He encouraged me to write in general, and I spent a lot of time talking to him. I confided that there were so many times people said or did hurtful things and I wished I could tell them what I thought of things, but I was scared, shy, or whatever. Just because my feelings had been hurt, I didn't really, truly want to hurt back. So he said, "Write down all the things you want to say. If you really have to, you can give the letter to the person you wrote to. Or you can tear it up and throw it away--the letter, the bad feelings, the whole thing."

It worked then. It works now. I have written dozens of letters over the years, telling so-and-so why such-and-such made me feel this-and-that. I got a lot of things off my chest. I let a lot of things go. I never delivered a single letter, but I always ended up feeling better once the shreds of paper hit the wastebasket.

I gotta say: DELETE is faster, less messy and saves paper, but ripping all those negative words to shreds can be oh-so-satisfying. I kind of missed out on that with yesterday's rant and rave.

I try, try, try not to be a grudge holder, because it seems that holding a grudge takes up too much of my energy and hurts no one but me. So why bother?

However, this is not to say that old hurts never re-surface. They do. Things happen, things are said, and old memories are triggered. I don't care who you are, how forgiving you can be--memories have a lot of power! Many--probably most--are wonderful and sweet and happy. Some have the power to bring you to tears decades after the fact. Some can make you angry all over again, even though you were sure you'd let it go.

This is also not to say that I have never done the rant and rave out loud and in person. Sadly, I have indeed lost my temper, said hurtful things and then wished with all my heart that I could go back in time and unsay them. Oh, how I hate the human side of me sometimes.

So the bitch-fest lives on, and it has saved many from the sharper side of my tongue, my quick, cynical wit and my sometimes downright mean and spiteful responses to hurts, slights or attacks against me.

See, I really can fight back. Most of the time, I just choose not to. Two wrongs don't make a right, my mother told me, and sometimes even two rights don't make a right. Not if you argue them for the wrong reason.

What set me off yesterday had connections to past hurts and fear for the future. I want my grandchildren to grow up in a safe, secure world, and the world has really become a different place from the one I grew up in. I find myself questioning things more now than I ever have, and not liking the answers.

This is a much nicer rant than the deleted rant, where I named names and listed offenses that no one really needs to read about. The past is dead and gone; it's not my place to stage a resurrection. Even if it was, it would change nothing.

Now, I'm worried about crazy, stupid people in positions of high power who could potentially ruin the lives of my babies.

We should all be worried. We're in deep trouble here.

Here's what I took away from yesterday's rant and rip: Fear begets anger. Being frightened makes us angry.

I have a very vivid memory of the one time I remember my father being really angry with me. Sure, I got his goat from time to time, got grounded, got lectured. But this time, he was furious; he wouldn't even speak to me or look at me. Why? Because I scared him. I went off with a friend after school and didn't come home for hours, and no one knew where I was. He was terrified. When I got home, my mother cried, and my dad wouldn't speak to me. I couldn't say I was sorry enough. I cried and cried. He finally admitted that he was angry because his fear made him feel helpless, and he hugged me and all was forgiven.

But I never forgot it.

My kids, every one of them, have made me angry through fear at least once in their lives, and I'm sure that at some point in their lives they will experience that fear/anger as well.

Now I live with a low-burning fear in my gut a lot of the time, and it all has to do with things I have no control over: school shootings, child molesters.

Politicians.

I'm scared for all of us. It pisses me off.

Just so you know what I think...

Good-night.