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Honestly, What Am I Supposed To Do With All My Anger?

Updated on March 20, 2009

I used to think that writing a blog and doing an occasional video blog spewing of all that pisses me off was enough. But as the economy dies and gays are told they can only arrange the flowers at a wedding instead of having equal rights to actually marry, I have to wonder honestly what am I supposed to do with all my anger? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’d like to think that I’m an evolved person. I’d like to think I could just burn a candle, do some Yoga and not only lose weight and become more limber but also be at peace with myself and the world around me. But such is not the case. I could go off on a whole, “You know you’re angry when…” but it should suffice to say that the list is far longer than anyone would want to read.

I used to work with a choreographer who when we weren’t getting the choreography (or at least not to her satisfaction) she would stop, look up at the heavens and say, “Is it I Lord? Is it I?” And for awhile I thought it was me but the more I think about it the more I realize that it’s not me at all, it’s everyone around me.

Oh sure, I might think that it’s me due to the fact that about four cars that I’ve been behind on the road recently have pulled over to the side of the road to let me pass them. One guy I think just thought the right-hand lane was for people who are talking on their cell phones and driving poorly at the same time so I don’t think he counts. As he crawled at a speed much slower than the limit and eventually just pulled to the extreme right side of the road, I vroomed past him and I couldn’t help but shake a fist and scream an expletive that could only be heard if sound was escaping from my closed sun roof.

Thanks to a noted therapist (friend of mine who I met through my website and have never seen professionally or personally as he lives in Australia) he tells me that it’s everyone else’s fault. And who am I not to believe a professional? You see, I’m a giver. I can’t help myself, I come from a long line of care givers so even if you’re a stranger on the street I’m going to put your needs before mine. Which is all well and good and you would think would make me the president of something like the Oprah Angel Network but you see all this “good deed doing” does you in and eventually you feel your face starting to peel off like a façade from a building that was built by your Jewish ancestors when they were slaves and were only given dirt, water and some straw yet they managed to build the Pyramids and guess what, they’re still standing; albeit without a nose. (Oh, if only I were Michael Jackson with no nose, then I would be called, “eccentric” as I sat in my car and screamed at the passer-bys).

The thing is that I think the time to stop being so delightful is upon me. I can’t take the headaches anymore, I mean literally my head aches and thanks to a healthy long line of almost-hypochondriacs in my family for generations, I have now convinced myself that I’m on my way to a stroke. But as I say, “Don’t let my stroke get in your way, simply step over me like you’ve been stepping on me and go about your life with no concern for me whatsoever.” (For those uneducated, that’s called sarcasm and Jewish guilt, the gifts that keeps on giving)

I guess I need to get to that place that the “Red Hat Ladies” have gotten to except I don’t want to wear a hat and hardly want to be grouped in with anyone else. I want to be Tigger because the wonderful thing about Tiggers is I’m the only one. You see, I was born as a show biz kid and as my life progressed and no one wanted me on a stage of any kind, I have made my everyday life a show. I play this character that like some gay chameleon adapts to my surroundings to entertain and be liked. But recently I’ve begun to feel like Yul Brynner. Toward the end of his life he had been in so many productions of the musical The King And I he began to think of himself as the king of Siam. He lost himself and so have I. (As my mother once said to me, “I’m not myself. I’m not even my next door neighbor. I’m around the block somewhere.”) I’ve become a character in my own show that I don’t even recognize. I’ve been playing for laughs for so many years that I’ve forgotten what made the script funny in the first place. The makeup is wearing thin, I’m getting too old for the role and what was once a Broadway production now feels like a bad bus and truck company filled with less than talented supporting players.

If this were a show I would know exactly how to fix it. I’ve always been good at fixing shows, other people’s lives and an occasional electronic gadget that isn’t working properly but how do you stop being what you’ve become to be yourself? I don’t have the money or the time to go to an ashram to find out so I’ve decided to blame the supporting cast. I’m the STAR, dammit and why in God’s name don’t the other drivers on the road get that the STAR goes first?!? Why then don’t so-called friends get that my problems are way more important than theirs? Why doesn’t everyone get that my time is more precious than theirs? Look, I’ve got a run of the play contract so I’m here for the duration but the supporting cast better start looking over their shoulders because I’m casting a new bunch that’s younger, adores me more and who won’t piss me off…well, not as much. In the meantime, honestly what am I supposed to do with all my anger? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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