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Thursday, October 11, 2012

Count To Ten


artwork by Natali Koromoto
When I was a little brat, as opposed to the 5' 7" brat I am now, I had a hate-hate relationship with my teachers.

They hated me, and I hated them. There were a few I could charm and manipulate onto my good side, but it never lasted long because I was terror, school bored me, and I enjoyed acting out. Third grade was particularly horrendous. There was this one girl, Natasha, who I truly could not stand for the simple fact that she was an ugly bully. She'd gotten kept back so she was a little bigger than us.

Back in 1993 I was a knobby-kneed toothpick. But every single time Natasha started with me I went right up to her and raised my fist high.

I may've only ever hit her once. But my fist tactic, and our consistent altercations prompted my teacher to employ some anger management on us. I was encouraged to count to ten. Ten was never enough. But I eventually caught on that the counting was supposed to distract me from the rage.

Recently a particular situation has been causing me severe ajida. And I want to go in so badly. I want to let them know just what it is and who they're dealing with, and I want to fuck their whole shit up.

But I also want to be the mature grown up adult woman I know I am (almost) or could be (?). I also want to elevate my true pride by demonstrating my elusive restraint. Restraint is really not my thing (unless we're naked, and have established safe words...) but I am breathing. And confirmation from the stars always, always helps:
You are ready to jump to conclusions now, unless you consciously slow down your mental process. But there's a trick to making this work; you don't have to change the speed of your thinking. Instead, just increase the time between a thought and the moment you respond. You'll be surprised at the difference you can make if you just count to ten before saying anything.

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