Sometimes I have days when I just feel angry. The intensity of the emotion ranges from a minor irritation to a full-out, pissed-at-the-Universe, fuck-everyone rage.

Today is on the lower end of the scale.

I’ve been pissed for a few weeks now, and I’ve been letting that simmer on a back burner, occasionally checking the pot and stirring it up just a little for good measure. But I’ve been keeping a watchful eye on it.

Last night I decided to try out some of my tools for dealing with Anger. (She’s a big pain in the ass, quite literally; that seems to be where all the extra calories go when I’m overeating because I’m mad.) I thought it would be a good idea to start my day with some exercise this morning. Good stress-reducer. Great tool.

Good choice, Lisa.

So, after rising at 5:30 to get Daughter Number One off to school, I had a pretty good workout at the gym.

Felt good.

Came home, had a mozzarella string cheese and an apple. Drank some water. So far, so good.

Then, two huge chocolate-chip cookies.

Just because, that’s why. Shut up.

Still irritated at Unidentified Subject Number One, I decided to keep moving and use this energy to get some things done around here.


Out came the real toolbox. Not the piddly-ass, figuratively-speaking life toolbox. I’m talkin’ the mother of all toolboxes with a screwdriver for every occasion, laser levels, hacksaws, metric conversion books, hammers, awls, wrenches… argh. Me have tools. Me no need man.


I fixed everything. I mean everything. My dear landlord (who has been the clearly Identified Subject of my anger way too often) did all the work on this house himself. It looks nice. It functioned well… for awhile.

Do you know what happens when you install a toilet paper holder with the sides too close together so that the spring from the roll holder pushes against the sides for days and days and months and years? Do you know what happens when you do that and you have 3 kids using the toilet paper every day? The fucking thing comes out of the fucking wall, that’s what happens. That’s right, molly screws and all.

I fixed two of those today.

I fixed the hook beside the shower. I hung a full-length mirror.

We are getting organized, damnit.

(Blowing the dust off the bit on my drill and looking cool.)

I’m mad. Don’t fuck with me today.

3 Comments on “Caution: Angry Woman with Power Drill

  1. This is a fucking great piece of writing!! I felt it to the core!Holster that drill, honey.Take me!~K


  2. I read my post, filtered by time, and feel embarrassment… and not. It is an honest gut reaction to the first read.There’s something gritty attractive at the vision of a beautiful pissed-off woman venting with power tools.~K


  3. Embarrassed???? On MY blog???? No, no, no… that won’t do at all. There shall be no embarrassment here. We say what we like, from whatever mood we happen to be in, and then we say “fuck you” to embarrassment, guilt, or any other judgmental emotions that come along. 🙂Perhaps my silence contributed to it; I was merely trying to think of a witty comeback, amidst the junk-food frenzy I’ve been in, which is destroying my brain cells like a bad drug. Your first comment was “right on.” Exactly the character I had in mind that day. Unfortunately, the sexual energy has melted into fat, frumpy housewife lethargy. 😦


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