Pissed off? Same. Let's explore that.
Plaid flannel shirts and other problems...
I have been angry all week.
I don’t know when it started, but by Tuesday, boiling with rage, I screamed at the backside of a Porsche, “SLOW THE FUCK DOWN, ASSHOLE!” after he sped down my street going no less than 45mph and nearly taking out an old woman’s dog as she was trying to cross the street. So overcome with rage, I scanned my immediate area for an apple-sized rock because I was certain if he stopped at the light and I threw hard enough, I might be able to take out his back windshield.
Fortunately—for both the Porsche and myself—no fist-shaped rocks could be found within thirty feet of my reach.
Look. I try to be a positive person. I try to be happy and joyful and share that joy with others. I try to be nice and kind and compassionate. I try to be optimistic and give people the benefit of the doubt when they act like a fucking prick. But at my core, deep down? Oh, there exists a rage that you cannot imagine. When I was a teenager, I wanted to burn the world down. When I was in my twenties, I wanted revenge on everyone who’d wronged me. When I was in my thirties, I was finally learning that having a violent temper and a short fuse was not a good thing.
My new favorite plaid flannel… ruined.
I hate shopping for clothes. Ugh. I’m too short, not skinny enough, don’t have the muscles to fill out, etc. There’s nothing worse than spending two hours trying on clothes and walking out with a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that you’re going to return next week. (*Lifehack: Don’t buy things just because they’re on sale and you think you’re getting a bargain.)
So when I find a brand, I stick with it. I’m a loyalist. Mainly because I’m lazy and if I already know that a Grayer’s Medium fits perfect, why go elsewhere?
Yeah, well, last year I put on 20 lbs, so I’m no longer a Grayer’s Medium. I’m a Grayer’s Large. Sigh. So it goes. We break toes, we stop running. We pull an arm tendon, we stop lifting. We see a cake donut, we eat it. And sometimes another. Because cake donuts are legit pure beauty in my mouthfeel.
But then I find this gorgeous yellow plaid flannel online. I imagine wearing it at picnics in the park with my dude and my dog, at a fun movie in the theater with friends, wearing it on stage while accepting a prestigious book award…. (what? I see that looks… I’m manifesting!! LOL.)
But then the shirt it arrives. This shirt itself is even better than I could have expected—except it was about 4 inches too long. It looked like a dress on me.
I bought it for 50% off. A bargain! (Ignore the lifehack I shared earlier if you’re really into something. Then it’s a steal!) Spending another $20 bones on a tailor is never ideal, but welcome to our world.
The shirt sat on top of my to-do list for 4 months. Ugh. Finally, Monday, I dropped it off to get tailored. I picked it up yesterday. Delightful! Today I put it on to walk my Toby. When I look in the mirror, I screamed, “FUCK!”
While the sleeves remain as they were, the hemline is now sits at my waist… or an inch and a half above that. It looks like a crop top. A CROP TOP.
The rage already inside me was threatening to Vesuvius everywhere. I wanted to rip all the clothes out of my closet and toss them in the trash. I wanted to shove my bookshelf over. I wanted to storm down to the tailor and rip his head off, spit down his throat, and rub his nose in my destroyed new favorite flannel like he was a dog that wee’ed on the carpet.
Told you I had a temper. In a single day, I have dozens of cacoethes for destruction. (Also, cacoethes is my new favorite word. I have no idea how to pronounce it.)
But I do not act on them. The difference between young me and me now is a lot of therapy and meditation and breathing and bi-polar meds and one device I learned really helps me: being honest with myself…
…even if I don’t know what that truth is yet.
Furious? Okay. Now tell me why.
When the monsters inside me (yes, there are more than one) threaten to escape me, in order to use my body to enact violence on bookshelves and wardrobes, the first thing I do is walk away and take a deep breath. Then, I ask myself, “What is really going on?”
“WHAT A WASTE OF MONEY!!!”
Yes. Certainly. Agree. It is a bummer. I bought a shirt. Then had it hemmed. Now, now only is the fit and style all wrong, but I cannot return it. So I bought a new shirt, never wore it, then paid for it to be rendered unwearable.
Yeah, of course that pisses me off. And I hate wasting money.
Yet the very act of living in our current society makes it mandatory to spend money to live. Money for gas, for food, for popcorn at the movies (…ew, that stuff is always cold, don’t buy it), taxes, etc. So consider the loss of money a life tax. Ya win some, ya lose some.
Cuz in the grand scheme of things? It’s not a big deal. This a privileged person problem to have.
So I have a calm conversation with myself, saying, “No one was hurt. This was a mistake. Mistakes happen. So it goes. Are you really going to hire a high-power attorney and sue the man who works at the dryer cleaner for minimum wage because you probably gave bad instructions to someone for whom English is a second language? No? Then stop being a baby.”
“ALL THAT TIME I WASTED!!!”
Yes. Certainly. Agree. It is a bummer. I spent ten minutes shopping online, pressed “BUY”, waited for 7-10 business days for free shipping, then let the shirt sit on my to-do pile for 4 months, and then I fiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnally took it to get tailored, which took…. I don’t know, 3 minutes to drive there, 3 minutes to talk to the guy, and 3 minutes to drive home. Oof. That’s 9 minutes you can never get back…
Wait, how long were you scrolling through Instagram this morning? Uh-huh. Exactly.
Cuz in the grand scheme of things? It’s not a big deal. This a privileged person problem to have.
But I still require the calm conversation with myself, saying, “No one was hurt. This was a mistake. Mistakes happen. So it goes. Are you really going to invent time travel just so you can go back, rescue this shirt, warn yourself to never go to that dry cleaner? No? Then stop being a baby.”
“BUT…. BUT… BUT…!!”
Yes. Certainly. Agree. We all have butt’s. But what are you trying to get it, Rex? What is REALLY upsetting you?
“….”
Exactly. I am furious. But other than the two obvious reasons—which, once thought about and addressed directly, are not a big deal—it leaves something else, hiding in the shadows, perhaps the real reason I am so mad.
He whispers, “…I was really excited about that shirt…”
Oh, yes, that’s right…. I had imagined wearing it at picnics in the park with my dude and my dog, at a fun movie in the theater with friends, wearing it on stage while accepting a prestigious book award…. (don’t judge, I’m still manifesting!! LOL.)
And now, all those hopes, all those dreams, all those ambitions… DASHED!! Like a damsel who poetically throws herself from a cliff into the sea… and then promptly has her body crushed and thrashed and ripped apart by the violent waves on the jagged rocks below only to become little bits of meat for the crabs and fishies below.
Well, wah-wah. Cry me a river, Rex.
Let me repeat what I’ve said twice and you perhaps weren’t paying attention:
THIS IS A PRIVILEGED PERSON PROBLEM TO HAVE.
You are not starving. You are not living on the street. Your life is not in danger. You short was hemmed incorrectly and now you don’t like the shirt. That’s it.
Are you really going to let this ruin your day?
Well?
Are you?
Are you going to let this silly little life oopsie make you forget how lucky you are to have food in the fridge, a roof over your head, a dog who loves you (even if he won’t cuddle with you), friends who care about you, and your physical health. You have so much to be grateful for. Why is this upsetting you so much?
He whispers, “…cuz it’s the only thing I can control right now as the world is falling apart…”
And there it is.
Finally.
After going through all of this in my head while walking my dog this morning. It took me 20 minutes to figure out why I had been so angry all week, but especially angry about a flannel shirt.
The answer is—and turns out, always was—quite obvious.
I feel powerless in a world that feels very relative to a giant dumpster fire. Take a look at our world for a moment:
Humans are losing their jobs to AI.
Brown folks are being rounded up, torn from their families.
There exists a widespread trend of weakening democratic institutions and rising nationalism.
Ongoing, dangerous outbreaks of Dengue, Marburg, and Ebola in 2025-2026 have necessitated international travel health notices.
Also, men, women, and children are still dying in the war in Ukraine that everyone seems to have forgotten about because there are so many other wars going on.
Millions of people face acute food insecurity, with Yemen, Sudan, and Somalia facing the most severe situations.
U.S. tax dollars are being stripped from public education and poured into a war on the other side of the world so that President Trump and his buddies can build new luxury homes and real estate opportunities on the mass graves of a genocide.
Persistent high costs of living and debt crises in many developing nations are creating economic crises that no one seems to be addressing—especially in the U.S. because we’re all distracted by the constant bombardment of inane nonsense that the POTUS is perpetuating.
Should I keep going? Because I could. For probably the rest of the day.
But I don’t want to.
This is the world we live in. And it’s a fucking bummer.
But rather than allow myself to get worked up over a flannel shirt, instead, I am spending that anger on things that make this world a little better:
Walking my dog, letting Toby smell what he wants and pee where he wants.
Donating twenty bucks to a charity. (Today, I chose St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.)
Writing this newsletter, and hopefully sharing a tip that will help you get through a rough day or annoying life circumstance like a bad hem.
And, my favorite, potting new cacti in front of my office window… after which my hands and arms flowered with painful quills that remind me that sometimes… life is pain. But look at all the fucking beauty that comes from it.
The cacti may look rough today, but when the time comes it will bloom, becoming a brilliant and vibrant flower that will give new life to the insects and hummingbirds who rely on it for sustenance as well as itself.
Life is beautiful. But we have to remind ourself. We have to push ourselves to steer away from out anger, and focus instead on all the wonder around us, and the luxury we have, even when our war is at world.
The brain is not designed to make you happy, it is designed to make you survive…. but that can turn you into an asshole if you allow it. So don’t. Don’t be an asshole. Be mindful. And remember:
If you need to be angry, be angry about the right things. There are much bigger—and more important—fights to fight. Save your energy for those.
After all, there is plenty of flannel out there.
Hugs, R
