I’m Angry

I was waxing with someone at work about the fact I never get angry any more and David walked by and said, “What about Lloyd?” I’ll admit I did bring my moving woes to work (I don’t think you are supposed to do that, but he was such an ass…). I don’t mean I don’t ever get angry, I mean I don’t get angry unnecessarily. I used to walk around like a harpy – a woman’s face, but the talons of a bird of prey, looking for someone to tear to pieces…

I remember a night a number of years ago when we owned the gallery. I was always angry then – because of a perceived slight, or a crooked painting or because we were feeding and watering all of Jacksonville at our openings and precious few people were buying art (see justified anger above)… It was late, after an opening and I was drunk. Tony took my keys and said, “You can’t drive home like this. I’ll drive you home or you can stay here but I’m not giving you the keys.” Tony was the gallery manager and I still remember the feeling of complete fury and frustration. I am feeling it in the pit of my stomach right now.

I’m sure it must have been really bad because I drove drunk all the time, so I assume I was slurring as I stumbled at him and screamed, “GIVE ME THE KEYS, TONY!” He wouldn’t budge. I fired him. I told him I hated him. I demanded. I clawed at his clothes while he held the keys above my head.

That’s the kind of anger I’m talking about – the kind of unreasonable anger fueled by too much wine and not enough sense to know when someone is trying to protect you…

I wrote the article below for Sanford House on anger. Read it or I’ll get mad.

Anger and Arguments and Alcohol (Oh My)