what better way to start your day than with a nice emotional freakout. this morning i was angry at my clothes for being wrinkled and angry at my iron for needing to be plugged in. angry about having to go to work and angry for being late. angry at my hair as i tangled my fingers in and kneaded out two long, wet braids on each side of my angry head. i was angry at the weather for being cold and gloomy as i shivered, angrily. i was angry at my bed, angry at the clock, angry at my shoes, angry at elliot for being in a good mood, and really, really angry at his x-box. angry at my stomach for being hungry, but too angry to eat.
elliot was watching me while i put on my make-up. “why so angry?” he asked. “my life is hard,” i answered. he let out an involuntary laugh, then stopped himself. (i think i may have glared at him.)
in the car as i sped out of the driveway and angrily slammed on the brakes at the red light, elliot said, “but what if you had to carry your sick mule for miles and miles just to get him to a doctor?” i looked at him, somewhat annoyed, and didn’t answer. i knew what he was trying to do. he was trying to help me regain my perspective. he was trying to remind me of the difficult, impossible lives of many of the people i met in india. the kind of difficulty that makes my perceived, sad, pathetic little troubles look like a joke.
he was quiet for a few moments. there’s nothing worse than the voice of reason hanging in the air when you were busy feeling sorry for yourself. so i started getting angry at myself for being so angry. but then elliot continued, “and more importantly—if you had a mule, what would you name it?”