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  • I recently read that there is no point in avenging anger, it serves no end.

    Further, "the immense energy expended through physically 'blowing off steam' only sets up a cycle in which one becomes addicted to doing so, thus the 'I am going to go out and run it off!' really doesn't work. The adrenaline rush obtained through running is enough to make one seek out the irritation in order to have the excuse to run again."

    Seriously? Are they joking? So what IS one supposed to do when pissed off, shut down, disappointed and seriously contemplating throwing a chair through a window? Not run, evidently. Fine. So what then?

    press that bruise - just to make sure it still hurts

    pick at that scab - just to see it bleed again

    dream up schemes - who is out there is slighting, laughing, wishing me to fail?

    see the haunted faces in the rust, madness in the mirror

    see nothing but red, red, red...

    "Bullshit." I say calmly. "Bullshit!" I repeat, this time not so calmly.

    I put on my sneaks and took off down the path. Fairly quickly I established a rhythm, started to drown out the internal noise. Focused on my breathing and the sound of my footsteps. Counting out a pattern - one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four....arms pumping, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth.

    There we go, much better...

    As I jogged down Kelly Drive, shaking off the day's annoyances, a phrase jumped into my head:

    "What we seek, we shall find..."

    "Biblical?" I wondered "Jesus Christ, now I am hearing biblical phrases..." in the midst of my thump-thump-thump-thumping on the pavement. What? My grandmother trying to intervene from the grave?

    "Yes-sir-ee-prob-ab-lee" I caught myself answering in rhythm with my footsteps, aloud with a chuckle. (Clearly I was on the mend by this point...)

    By the time I get back home my pace had slowed in all ways - movement, speech, thought. I looked back at that rusted gate. Softer shades of red and happier oranges appeared - rose and sepia, cinnamon and umber. Instead of menace I suddently saw layers of pain and disappointment chipping, yielding, giving way to the strong, raw metal underneath.

    It was not all red anymore. It was alright. Not all right, but better than before. Definitely.

    So yeah, I'll keep running, walking it off, talking it out, no matter what is published about habitual patterns. The alternative is far worse. Trust me. I know.

    photo by Tau Zero
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