Crap

I used to be afraid of anger, vexation, ire ... whatever you want to call that emotion that causes us to take up arms, man the stations, arm the torpedoes. If "anger" were a cartoonish cartoon within the peanut gallery of my mind ... she'd be an Amazon ever alert with sword and shield and dagger and lance and battering ram at her side ... and once awakened, she'd don her fine armour and stand guard and attack if need be (I mean that's what she's paid for ... no? to protect and defend) ...

Perhaps that Amazon intimidated me ... so glorious in her righteousness, taut as I can only imagine a jaguar is as it surveys its prey ... rippling muscles and abs (and buns, naturally) of steel ... that when caught in her crossfire as she defended and stormed and protected with all her might, I'd feel little and weak (and a little flabby).

So when I'd feel the tinglings of consternation, contrariness, non-agreement ... I'd swallow really hard to make them disappear (like a bitter pill or yucky medicine or brussel sprouts).

Though I'm sure I realized on some level that this didn't really make anything go away ... simply postponed the inevitable ... I would breathe a sigh of relief and put on my conciliatory face and turn my head to avoid the slap, the hurt, the insult ... I'd stop thinking to make sure it would just die its unnatural death ...

Ah ... but little did I know that there was this stockpile room at the back of the corridor ... with a plain white sign upon which was written 'Crap". I would imagine that I'd convinced myself that someone had whited out the "per" that should have appeared at the end of that word ... makes sense that my peanut gallery might just need to use the facilities every now and again.

... anyways behind the metal door of the "Crapper" ... filed away for future reference was every instance of ire, vexation, frustration, nonagreement experienced. Boxes and boxes and boxes of the stuff ... cobwebs and dust bunnies everywhere. No one every visited the "Crapper" ...

And yes ... when the Crapper eventually got full ... the crap exploded out of that store room ... the door smashed into a million metal shards ... spraying the world and those closest to me with all that random shit ...

as for the Amazon ... she got covered as well ... and might I add that an Angry Amazon is not a pretty sight ... especially when she gets hit from behind (there she was thinking that the enemy was in front of her ...)

And me? I was in the center of the maelstrom ... flying crap everywhere ... out of control ... unable to think .... Sheer destruction. You can imagine how long it takes to pick up the pieces and put everything back in the Crapper ... and that would have been bad enough but the original contents of the Crapper weren't even all picked up yet when another explosion rocked my world ...

When the dust cleared and the chaos settled ... the reconnaissance began ... the inventory of what was lost, damaged, fixable, dead ...

I've been so busy cleaning up ... I don't quite know when I stopped fearing the Amazon ... allowing myself to live through vexation, ire, nonagreement ... and does the exact moment matter?

You know the Amazon without the Fun House mirrors is rather ordinary and not so scary and really is not imposing or frightful at all ...

She says her piece ... and I deal with the shit ... and we move on!