I started to write a blog last night, but anything I thought of was either too goody goody or simply had no authentic energy. What I began to write was just garbage. Well, maybe not quite garbage, but it was more like offering a half eaten piece of fruit to someone you don’t know. And maybe you even had a cold when you ate half the fruit. Not very appetizing, unless you’re in great need of food. I wasn’t sure why I was disconnected from myself yesterday. This kind of mood is not restricted to the activity of writing blogs. Internal disconnection can happen to anyone engaged in any kind of behavior. If you know someone well, you can see the clouded or vacant look in the other person’s eyes. It’s a good thing that most of us have an automatic pilot mode that allows us to behave somewhat normally while we wonder what the hell is wrong with us. Truth is, I didn’t realize that I was angry. Here’s the thing: I just had some very good news about my health. I could stop taking coumadin (which, in case you didn’t know, actually IS rat poison)! What could be better? I’d been poisoning myself under doctor’s orders for over ten years. I had a chronic condition that necessitated being a partial hemophiliac. So why would I be angry about such good news?
The news wasn’t the problem. The problem has two facets. First, my internist missed putting together three pieces of information that could have liberated me from this dangerous drug years ago. Why do I love her, despite her making such a big mistake? She is smart, well trained in her specialty, caring, has helped me on many occasions, and is truly called to serve other human beings in a full-hearted way. We have a fabulous personal connection and I respect her very much. HOW COULD SHE HAVE MISSED THIS? It took me four or five days to realize that I was/am angry with her. I hate to be angry with people whom I love and respect. I had decided it was my fault as much as hers to not have paid enough attention to my own autoimmune disease. True? Well, yes, I should have researched it, thought of other factors that were related problems, but I’m not the doctor, and as they say, “Denial is not just a river in Egypt.” I felt fine almost all the time on coumadin, except on the several occasions it could have killed me. (Oops. Big exceptions.) But I didn’t want to be mad at my doctor. This morning I was unaccountably cranky with my husband. I could hear the snippy little remarks and snotty tone that leaked out of me for no good reason. Finally I realized that even I didn’t want to be in my own company. I owed Stan an apology, said I was sorry to be so unpleasant, and he was very gracious about it. Then, duh, I understood what I was mad about.
Some people are angry with people they love all the time. Some people try never to be angry with anyone. Some people are angry knowingly, but pretend they aren’t. Some people use anger in their work, and find it useful: athletes and attorneys come to mind. (Okay, I’m not taking about ALL of them!) Angrrrrr is a fine and useful emotion if you use it as signal that something is wrong and needs to be addressed constructively. Sometimes this is an internal process. Sometimes you have to deal directly with someone else, This takes discernment.
I did something really constructive tonight. I went to a wonderful concert that cheered me up enormously, but in addition, I took liberties at the potluck. There was a birthday cake for a young person there. I had one small piece, but later decided that what I really wanted was the frosting. I went back to the cake, looked to see if there were any cops around, and then sliced the frosting off the top of an unclaimed piece. No sirens went off. No one frowned or flared their nostrils. Nobody noticed and nobody gave a rip. After intermission, I went back to see if evidence of my crime remained, but apparently there was someone in the world who wanted the cake part without the chocolate. The scalped cake piece was gone! Nature at its best: all the ecosystems working together for the common good. Later I confessed to another concert goer what I had done. Well, he had done the same thing and also taken just frosting. We congratulated each other on our liberated and satisfying behavior.
So can I say anything about music in this particular blog entry? Yes. I can quote a classical song that I sang at about 18. “If music be the food of love, play on, play on, play on, play on, ’til I am filled, am filled with joy.” Rebecca Folsom, Sally Barris and Mark Oblinger did a fine job of spreading joy tonight at a house concert. And tomorrow, I get to go to a song writing workshop offered by Rebecca and Sally. So not more rat poison, life goes on, and I will find a way to talk with my doctor whom I still love. But the significant disappointment can’t be dismissed or ignored, or it will begin to smell like rotten fish.
Susan Rose: Singing Grandma 