Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Rage: No thank you --- Marley: Yes please.

Rage.  That awful moment when I look at another human being and think, "I'm going to commit homicide."

I know I'm not alone in this horrifying feeling.  Unfortunately too many people act out on it.  This is one of the single factors why I oppose owning personal firearms.  I don't believe people can control their anger.  Hell, I know I can't.  I'm a lit firecracker.  If I had access to a gun in my moments of rage, Lord only knows what I'd be capable of. 

I understand the Second Amendment argument to The Right to Keep and Bear Arms.  But if these "arms" are locked away safely in your home as they should be, then what happens when a bad guy breaks into your house in the middle of the night?  Would you have the foresight to find the keys, unlock the guns, get the ammunition, load the weapon, and have the wherewithal to use it in those first few terrifying moments?  And - what if - God forbid, that bad guy wasn't a bad guy after all?  Perhaps your drunk teenager came stumbling through the door after a party?  Guns.  They terrify me.

So, back to the word, "Rage".  Another 4-letter word which I excel at.

I'm embarrassed to say I've had many experiences with it; some I've already written about.  One was the infamous pickle throwing incident which involved my son, William.  Another was the time I almost strangled a gas station attendant over purchasing a pack of cigarettes - and no, I was not having a nicotine fit.  I wasn't even a smoker at the time.  The cigarettes were for my ex-husband.  AND still, my dear friends and blog readers may remember the horrifying "Ugly American" story whereas I created an international incident at London's Heathrow Airport.

Yes, believe it or not, there are still stories that have yet to be shared of my nasty temper; my unchecked rage which can be sparked within seconds.  One moment, I can be the sweet, laughing jokester whom you've come to know through my blogs - then - one misguided, disrespectful tone from an unsuspecting stranger or disgruntled relative and BOOM!  KAZOWIE!  ZWACK!  OUCH! POP!  I'm off the deep end and into the raging waters of scorching, hateful pissiness - an ugly transformation to behold.

My former husband most likely will never forget a lead crystal vase being hurled at him with such ferocity that it left permanent divots in our hard wood floor or being whacked by a pillow for nothing more than giving me a curious look (I will not explain the reasoning behind the vase.  That will remain our secret).  I've left people dangling on the other end of phone lines with strings of such shocking 4-letter expletives they'd make the devil blush.  Oh, and my writing - don't ever get on my bad side.  I can pen letters so vicious, so vindictive that I've been known to make people cry, have employees terminated, or destroy relationships.  Do you hear howling?  Yes?  That's me, my alter-ego...Breezy Bitch.

These are not proud admissions.  I much prefer the calm, peaceful, sunset-at-the-beach-watching Bri.  I'm a pacifist at heart.  Make love not war.  Smile don't frown.  'Let's get together and feel all right'; HOWEVER, when I ask sweetly for a soda with my meal, please don't act as though it's too much of an inconvenience.  Really, trust me...no one ever wants to go there.