Thunderclouds.

June 23, 2008

I feel stormy, today.  It’s the kind of storm that will likely manifest during my interactions with others.  Watch out if you talk to me today – lightning might shoot from my eyes, or my voice might drop to a rumbling register, too low and cranky to hear.

Something happens to me when I talk to people while I’m like this – when I choose to let ’em see that I’m irritable, rather than keeping my usual unicorns-and-rainbows disposition.  It’s deeply satisfying.  I imagine the small, mean Yvanka inside beating the shit out of the nice Yvanka and creeping up to my brain to work the language controls.  When she’s in charge, there’s a bite that creeps into my tone, and I tend to keep a little more disdain in my face.

But then I snap at people who don’t deserve it, and the instant spark of contrition causes the Good Yvanka (clothed in shiny white with champagne-y sparkle sandals and a fancy red coral necklace) to rise up and conquer the Evil.

And then I feel like shit.

And then I wish I was meant to be an Evil Yvanka, so I didn’t have the Catholic-style remorse.

GOD, DAMN.

Your conflicted friend,

-mym

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