A lot of rage has been flying around lately, some of it from me. Well, maybe not rage, but indignation. I tried hard to use Dr. Wayne Dyer’s advice: Stop looking for occasions to be offended. It wasn’t working. I’d stretched out on the couch for a nap when the phone rang.
“Hello,” I mumbled.
“Hello, Robena,” a male voice said.
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” And so it went on because I wanted him to identify himself. He finally screamed, “Why don’t you just say who the fuck you are—?” And then he slammed down the phone. Umm, didn’t he just call me? Okay, Dr. Dyer, I was initially offended, then I thought maybe the guy needed a break. Was I the last person he had to cold call so he could report back to the boss and be paid his measly hourly rate so he could feed the wife and five kids? But still…phone rage?
I hit my blogs, groups, email, and then went to Facebook. There were six photos of near-naked men, their crotches at eye level, and I wasn’t half awake. I mean, come on, do we have to? I’m too old for this crap. Yummy? I think not. I blocked that person from my FB page. I felt awful and I channeled Dr. Dyer. Maybe the woman lived back east. She’d already gotten the hubs off to work, the kids to school, and she was warming up her romance writer fingertips and needed to jump start her muse. It could happen.
Then I went to a neighborhood meeting and a woman said she hadn’t seen me in a long time. I was standing next to an elderly man (husband of a woman I know) and he said loudly, “She stays inside all day and writes porn.” I smiled and said, “I have an interesting life,” and under my breath, “Stupid old goat.” But yeah, I know Dr. Dyer, the man is old. Maybe he’s losing his grip…maybe he never had a grip.
Then there was Yahoo. I belong to several groups, and I couldn’t respond to messages. I spent two days unraveling the mess. Then I got an email with the subject: Locals who want to fuck. Okay. I ran my antivirus again, changed all my passwords, again, and by this point I was really pissed with AOL. How come they let this email get through, and yet I find in my spam an email from a friend? The next day I went to Facebook and read a comment. No way would that friend have written it, even if she’d had three glasses of wine. I reported it and changed all of my FB stuff. I ran the antivirus, changed my passwords, again. And yes, I was beyond offended, Dr. Dyer, I was outraged. I accused them of being stupid, insensitive, rude, arrogant, inconsiderate, and if that defines me as a judgmental person, so be it. Finally I called in the computer doctor. John fixed everything. I now have a nice clean computer and some new software.
Then I calmed down and thought about being offended. I figured that life is too short to walk around with ruffled feathers, and Dr. Dyer is right. So I smoothed those feathers and went shopping.