Indulging in Anger

I feel the need to indulge in my anger a little and let it steep a bit…

• I am angry that I fell for it yet again
• I am angry that I am a hard core gambler…I mean who goes to the casino and puts down their whole life savings (haha–no savings, just whats left on a home equity loan…) on the number seven and thinks they’ll really win??  Someone with a gambling problem.  In essence that’s what we did.
• I am angry at the nurse who called with the bad news started with the statement, “The good news is, you know you can get pregnant…”  I feel hatred towards her which is really wrong on Good Friday.
• I am angry that I can’t stop moving very long before my mind wanders back to it and I feel like I’m going to cry ugly.
• I am angry that the dr’s office seemed to assume that we’d be trying again.
• I am angry at myself for not being emotionally able to try again, even if we could up some cash.
• I’m angry that there will be looks of pity at my Easter gathering on Sunday.
• I’m angry that when I tell people that I don’t want to talk about it, they don’t respect that, and bring it up anyway.
• I’m angry that its the beginning of spring and everything is growing and blooming around me and I’m being left behind.
• I’m angry that something so, so, so tiny can have such a big effect on me emotionally.
• I’m angry that I used sick time and vacation time for a study in futility.
• I am angry that I have to sit around waiting for the bleeding to start.
• I’m angry that I have to go back to the dr.s office to retest my blood again just to see how low the numbers are going.
• I’m angry that there’s no time to take to just back out of life for awhile without anything else to think about.
• I’m angry that I’m getting older.
• I’m angry that while I’m grieving, I have clients in my parenting classes who don’t have the ability to show their children nurturing care…I almost cried when a little boy came in to the class with his mom.  He had gotten a much needed haircut since the week before; granted, it was a bit uneven.  When I commented on how great he looked, he said, “Momma said I look ugly,” to which his “Momma” replied, “It IS ugly, you look terrible.”  That little boy is 5.

I’m sure there’s more I can come up with, but I’m just too tired to keep going.