sometimes you have to spend all your phone credit on a long distance call to your m-o-t-h-e-r.
clearing out old photos on my computer, i ran across one of her, seated in the living room of our house. which has new people living in it now. when i was little, she had a solution for my temper. i would get uncontrollably angry or sad and basically tear the house apart and everyone in it until the situation ended in tears and hugs after completely useless and unnecessary problems authored entirely by and against myself.
the plan was, if i felt the bad bubbling up, i could go to the garage and scream. just go down the hall, shut (not slam!) the door behind me, and scream it all out. any words were okay as long as they weren't directed at anybody (still can't be mean) and then i could come back in. it was really, really effective. often, just knowing that was an option would calm me down enough to the point where i could just cry it out and find a lap or rally and shake it off. the family who moved in after has three little girls. i wonder if the three of them, together, locked in the garage, could even come close to generating my directionless rage.
even in my quasi-adult life, i have pilgrimaged back to the garage for every major crisis. i needed it today, there is nowhere i can go in this city to scream.
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