Feeling: siphoned
Listening to: Olive - "You're Not Alone"
Reading/Watching: Road to Perdition, interrupted by a less-than-good phone call.

This is what I do:

When there is a problem, and I cannot solve it, and talking to the source of the problem won't help, and talking to other people won't help me, I turn the music up to a feel-the-bass-in-your-tail-bone loud, and sing my guts out.

When yelling at people won't help, my stereo and I bellow at each other. It's just what we do.

No, it doesn't actually fix anything. It makes me hoarse. It seriously frightens those who don't know my methods, who tiptoe around me, waiting for the bottom to drop out. It definitely worried my previously-uninitiated roommate. I'm usually more steady than this, but the truth is, I can only be steady if I have the chance to expell every last grain of rage and grief and frustration at the top of my lungs.

And after all the Precious Things, This Bitter Pill, Epiphany, Pretending, Hey Jupiter, Finally, Fade, Mississippi, Full of Grace, Soldier's Daughter, and Bitter, the problem is still there.

But this way, I won't bite anyone's head off, I won't mope, I won't let it overwhelm me. What can beat me is the overflow of emotion that just washes me downstream, convinces me that it's too much, it's too strong, I am too small, I don't want to have to fight it. But when I can pour off that raw frustration, what sifts to the bottom is slow and settled, calm and competent, and I believe I can handle it. Even if in actuality, I have NO say in it, and can't do a damn thing, it still feels easier to cope with. I can handle it.

And that's the frame of mind I need right now.

Thanks for not calling the funny farm when I almost shouted the walls down, Nimsay.

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