The Porosity to Hate

Dear J-

I think it must take a special kind of asshole to make a four year-old cry. And I spy him in the mirror. There are no doubt valid reasons to be angry with the kid as she keeps pushing boundaries and testing patience but once you’ve made the point you need to back off and calm down instead of continuing to wield the hammer of discipline. Last night I asked figgy to turn down the volume on the computer and she looked straight at me and turned it up. I turned it back down and she turned it up again so I turned the whole computer off in the middle of a YouTube video about cakes. Point made.

Then I continued to browbeat her (and in retrospect probably shouldn’t have turned it back on given that she’s learning that a few tears and a tantrum grease the skids to having her own way) to get the point across. Unnecessary. The kid I end up dealing with at the end of the night is cranky from being tired and cranky from some possible illness that she might still have and cranky from not having me around to plonk down on. And I hate that, I hate the situation that keeps me out of the house this much but lately it feels like I’ve been misdirecting that righteous anger against the wrong people.

In Internet parlance getting dooced is being fired for blogging about work (inappropriately should be the qualifier but with the way the economy has been and employment contracts written up as at-will, even that distinction seems to be going by the wayside). More than anything else lately it’s fear that drives me, fear that keeps me headed off to work and smiles and nods all around, yessir, what can I do for you today and I can, I will, I’ll get to it. But being trapped in the endless cycle of work and satisfaction and approval that we all crave from authority figures doesn’t mean that I have to let it seep through. The only thing Reagan’s trickle-down economy has given me is porosity to hate and discontent: I pass it down because there’s people smaller than me. And that’s not acceptable.



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