Venting is all the Rage

I just wrote an email. It was angry, it was angsty; it read like a Livejournal post. It also wasn't addressed to any one of the people who helped create it.

I tried crying and I felt like a princess. I wanted to throw stuff, but then I got worried that maybe one of my projectile weapons would hit the unsuspecting toddler who at any moment could pop out from his lair to see what all the fuss was about. Angry scrubbing worked for a while, but once again, the toddler thwarted me. It's really hard to work up a good momentum when there is a two year old trying to 'help'.

So, I did what any self respecting woman filled with rage would do - I fired up the kettle, poured myself a nice, strong black coffee, and opened up Gmail. The toddler was being entertained by a DVD, the housemates all at work. Perfect time to sit quietly in contemplation...or whip up a 1,000 word essay about what exactly is pissing me off so much!

Message sent. Ahhhhh.

I went back to whatever it was I was doing before I decided to unload and realised that I wasn't quite so pissed off anymore. It felt good to get it all off my chest, even if I had done absolutely nothing to resolve anything that was bugging me in the first place.

My poor, unsuspecting friend wrote back a little while later. Her response was so thought out, so caring and full of love that I may have shed a few tears and I didn't feel cheap or tacky afterwards. She is a truly amazing person, who even from thousands of kilometers away can still make me feel better and give me some much needed perspective.

I'm not angry anymore. Now I'm just home-sick.