you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry

I'm the green one. This might be what is referred to as foreshadowing.
I’m the green one. This might be what is commonly referred to as foreshadowing.
At Pioneer Camp, we dipped candles and churned butter and made salad from day lillies. In the root cellar of a 200 year old mansion, we dribbled red wax at the V of an envelope and eased a stamp into it to form our own seals. I also blindfolded Gigi Dixon and sent her tumbling down a scrubby hill, so it wasn’t all bad. I’ll never forget how perplexed she looked climbing back up with all those briars and brambles in her hair.

I’m pretty sure that was the same day  another girl and I had been squabbling over something (candles? stamps? whether or not one should actually eat day lillies??) when prissy Gigi admonished us with a “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” The counselor smiled and patted her head so that her perfectly curled pigtails shook like they were snickering. I seethed and noticed the strips of torn bedsheet we’d just dyed with boiled elderberry would make perfect blindfolds.

There was also the great bookbag fight of ’81 – which I totally won because a  Strawberry Shortcake bookbag weighted with matching lunchbox wins everytime against someone who buys lunch – plus that unfortunate phase in middle school where I pushed friends into trees. Do I need to go back as far as the biting episodes in nursery school or doesn’t everyone go through that?

Anger and I are old friends, though I thought I lost him around the time I discovered alcohol, which seeped into and soothed the jagged cracks of my psyche. After alcohol came cookies. God bless the cookies.

The thing about addicts is we’re always addicted to something. Alcohol, cookies, blindfold tricks and bookbag fights…even Recovery. We’re hooked on the thrill of altered states, and the more painful the better! Anything to take the edge off excruciating boredom and loneliness and the dreaded feeling that yep, maybe this is all there is. And so the next bandaid gets ripped off and the festering wound underneath gives us something new to focus on. If I don’t wind up a perfect human being by this time next year, I’m going to be really angry.

Just kidding. But I have been addressing old issues with sugar and last week I felt terrific and this week I’m looking for things to use as blindfolds. Writing is a nice release. Phew. I feel much better. Thanks for reading.

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