Rage-o-mon

335 Marbles

   This morning was not a great morning.  My youngest son’s mood could best be described as Rage-o-mon - one of those Japanese manga characters known for his violent outbursts.  He was pissed off about everything: his curly hair, his claim that I always believe his sister over him (they both say this), what was for breakfast, the list went on.  When he finally broke down in tears and morphed back into his more characteristic sweet self, I felt tired and his anger tweaked the inner chord of anger in me.  It was a rocky road to get them to school. 
   Then I had to talk to Ex-man and he was extremely cheery which made me more pissed off.  If he’s not dumping his latest mini-disaster on me (his car heater breaking down, his neighbour ruining his view by cutting down all the shrubbery on their property, blah, blah, blah) he’s maintaining a veneer of cheeriness.  Maybe he got laid.     
   I take my marble from the closet and hold it in my hand a little longer today before I pass it through the kitchen window into the garden below.  My neighbour’s window is near mine, so I hope that they don’t think I’m completely OCD.  I check my calendar and determine that, unfortunately, it’s too early for PMS. 
   My intent is weak today.  I think how if Ex-man asked, I would take him back.  Yikes!  What the hell is wrong with me?
   So I do laundry, not as therapy, but as a necessity.  As I load all the darks into the washing machine, I stare at the front loader as the water seeps in, and the garments begin to tumble.  As I sit watching my laundry, sadness seeps up through my anger.  The sadness I can sit with.  The sadness I can hold. 
   I lie down and have a good cry and feel the release.  Then I remember my little Rage-o-mon this morning and smile at how kindred we are; For the first time all day, I feel like smiling. 

If you are holding a lot of anger post breakup, can you tap into the sadness that often sits underneath the veneer of anger? Anger can sometimes be used as protection, a shield to protect the vulnerability of feeling sad but most often, it is the sadness that wants to be felt.