Yesterday was the shittiest day in the history of shitty days. It’s a long story so I’ll save it for another post. Let’s just say after hours of shouting and a red wine, Prozac cocktail, my hubby says,

“You’re fucking Magneto. You’re true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity.”

Though I gave him the ‘piss off pause of silence', he continued.

“When you’re angry, you explode (which rarely happens)—it’s like bear baiting. And when you’re satisfied, you’re efficient with words and shrug everything off. But right in the middle, where you’re frustrated but have a purpose or at least a light at the end of the tunnel, is when you’re at your best—most eloquent. You’re rants put me to shame. You’re Magneto, babe!”

After mentally cursing him out and insisting that if I were any Marvel Comic character I’d be Emma Frost, I began to see his point. I can’t stitch my thoughts together when I’m impassioned—on the flipside my indifference reaps little reward.




My Grandma exploited this ‘weakness’ when she asked me to take her seat on the committee for prison reform knowing I would refuse given my publication schedule and state of emotional bankruptcy. I hardly have time for the charities already on my plate. So, instead of making her request, she asked if I’d sit in on a meeting on her behalf—the meeting where they were screening extremely graphic documentary footage for the next legislative session.

She knew I wouldn’t turn away after seeing such gross misuse of power and brutality, but at the same time I was too angry to function in any capacity. I had to calm my mind, and since then I’ve written a venomous dissertation for them to present next session.

Maybe I am a little Magneto: driven by passion and peace. Or maybe I’m driven by my passion for peace. And maybe feeling Magneto is about tapping into those violent passions and harnessing its energy productively. Who knows…posterity will judge us all.


 

Today I'm feeling Magneto