Day LXXIX: Anger

Sometimes I find old journals and take great pleasure in reading the words I wrote. That probably sounds exceptionally egotistical, but, hey, gimme a second.

I like to wonder about what I was feeling that day or what I must have gone through to put such strange thoughts to paper. It makes me feel strong to reminisce. There is so much power in the written word; that I felt compelled to keep track of my experience in one moment in time...perhaps there was a reason.

This was dated March 3rd, 2012. It was--is--titled "Anger."

I don't know where all this anger comes from. I don't remember being so consistently upset as I have been in the last year or so. There's this strange fury that lives in my chest, I didn't invite it in, but it's found a way to create a home. Sometimes, I like to picture the spiraling, angry tendrils working their way through limbs, tattooing my body from the inside out. I guess the ink would have to be my blood? Does that make veins my needles? A tattoo is an apt analogy, I think; this anger feels like it might be permanent. 

When I was younger, I was not an angry child. Even in middle school and high school, I don't remember feeling so heavy with unhappiness. I wonder if being gay has something to do with it, innately. Like that one aspect of my DNA predisposes me to anger, to resentment. I am inclined to think "no." I've known that I was gay for a very long time, much longer than the span of time this writhing clump of ick has been living behind my ribs.

I wonder if I could isolate where it lives. 

Probably.

I think it lives in my spine. I think it lives in my heart. I think it lives in my head. 

I think I'd like to remove it.

No...that I know.

I couldn't tell you tonight where that anger was or what caused such a strange and fearsome burden.

I just danced and lipsync'd (lipsyanc?) with a house full of friends. Perhaps anger drowns in sweat? Unlikely.

No, I think the real culprit here is confidence and happiness. Confidence and happiness that does not come without a lot of fucking work.

But, really, it's the kind of work that's really damn important.

Day LVIII: Morning Trick

If there's a time of day to avoid Josh Plattner, it's the morning.

Not only am I a crotchety beast of a human being...well, yeah, I guess that covers it. When I hear an alarm go off, my body loses all semblance of friendliness and joy and rapidly becomes a DRAGON. Not like a real dragon, obviously, but the well-known acronym which stands for Delusional, Raging, Angry, Grumpy, and Ornery Netherbeast. You've never heard that before? Sorry you're so behind the times...

So, regrettably, that is me in the morning. It's so noticeable that every time I have dated someone (or had a guest for the evening), it has been an immediate disclosure on my part. "Oh, hey, when we wake up in the morning, I am going to be a ratchet beast and don't listen to anything I say because it will be incredibly mean and I won't mean a word of it." I know that doesn't quite make up for it, but it helps, right? Right?!

I have tried hundreds of times over to mediate my morning misbehavior, but nothing seems to work! It's been ingrained for years and years and years. I feel so much guilt for the way I treated my parents in middle and high school. The name calling! The shouting! The mumbled, passive-aggressive comments! What they must have needed to drink to stomach the awfulness of an adolescent Josh.

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad.

(I mean, like, did you always have to turn the light on? That's cruel shit right there.)

But! Recently, I've discovered a trick! It's not foolproof, and it doesn't work immediately. Still, it has proven to significantly improve my mood, energy, and general aura.

Want in on the tip?

LIPSYNC!

Get out of bed, throw on a song, and GO. TO. TOWN.

Do it in the bathroom mirror, do it laying down in bed, do it in the living room when your roommates have already left and you can really serve the house.

For reference, Dida Ritz is "serving the house" in this video:

It doesn't matter what you perform: it's gonna work! If someone as grumbly and terrible as my alter ego, "Gay-Mean-Bitter-Old-Uncle-Josh," can use it for a shot at a better mood, I think it would probably work for anyone.

This morning, for instance, I delivered a truly powerful version of Stay the Night by Zedd, featuring Hayley Williams. True, there was no one to judge how flawless the performance was, but, well, there's no need. When you're as monstrous as this guy in the AM, any little hint of happiness or joy that you can conjure up with some terrible dancing and some well-mouthed lyrics is going to be worth it. 

It's been working rather well over the last week and a half. Perhaps too well:

Someone's snooze button has been a little jealous.