Tag Archives: fights

Dropping Tears of Rage to the Floor


My dream starts off in a dim cafeteria that only has small windows towards the top of the double story ceiling to provide any light; I’m volunteering through hannaford by servicing people in need when I hear a familiar voice “I wanna see carol, I miss her so much.” I’d recognize that pouty voice anywhere since I served her for almost 3 years as her team leader. I come rushing around the corner and give becky a huge hug and begin cry my eyes out with her on her shoulder, saying I’m sorry over and over again. Danielle, my supervisor at hannafords, looks on fondly.

Later I run into my former boss Sarah, and ask her how I can help out. She hands me a box of gift cards to be stocked from local stores and restaurants, mostly from outback steak house. I dropped the box as I’m walking away and they all spread across the floor; the box is no longer usable. I organize the cards in piles and pick them back up, and drop them again, but they remain mostly in the piles I put them in. I put them away and look to the back of the room… That’s when I see her… Gina. She now drops something and I go over to help her pick it up. She doesnt know I’m here and doesn’t make eye contact, so in my generosity there’s a spiteful “fuck you I’m nice” element. “Kill them with kindness” comes to mind.

“Oh im so glad you guys are here. The work you all do is wonderful; you guys should come work for us” she says with a faux simper.

“Sorry, but I already did that once before, and I’ll never do it again.”

She finally looks at me and I’m beaming at her. She’s stunned, and I continue on holding on to my power and a slow simmering rage towards her to exert my dominance, tell her how much I love my job now, and how much it’s a shame that I’ll never work for such a terrible employer again. Gina struggles to find a snarky comment, and I leave before she gets the chance.

This time I’ve given a clothing donation to take care of, ┬ábut to my horror my dirty shirt and 2 pairs of underwear are among them! I’m trying desperately to conceal them by wrapping them up in a bundle, but they keep falling out and the stack gets bigger and heavier. Gina walks by and snarks “you should be more careful next time” with a smirk on her face. I ignore her and make it sound as if I can’t hear her. I brush it off and pick myself back up, not wanting to be phased.

In the next row I hear someone say “oh look, it’s carol Simpson! Oh, never mind, you’re too tall! Ha ha ha” when I look I see Ellen had said that to Bee in gest as a way of making fun of me. “Oh fuck you” I scream at the top of my lungs, but no one hears me or cares in a room crawling with people. I storm off and try to center myself.

I’m outside and near a body of water I think, but before me buried in sand is a bunch of stones – onyx, hemetite, jasper, sun stone, moon stone… And these are all mine! They’re from my bedroom! My brother Jim is nearby, and where he’s stolen from me before I furiously storm up and confront him. “DID YOU TAKE MY STONES” I screm at full force. Jim can’t take ownership of what he’s done, and mom and big Jim are now standing to my left. “Just tell her you did it” mom says, since jims face is now twisted with embarrassment and guilt. He says he did, and I launch into a speech asking him why he feels it’s okay to treat me like shit and disrespecting me through my belongings, but most importantly those are healing stones, and he tried to sabotage my ability to heal in stealing them.

Just then my mother snarks “ironic isn’t it; now you know how I feel.” She was referring to when I was 14 I had stolen from her, but when I tried to explain to her that was different cause little jim is now an adult, big Jim (his dad) steps in and says something, but I don’t remember what it was. I know I threw my hand up in a “stop” gesture, and told him I didn’t give a shit what someone as abusive and negligent as him has to say; what I do know is that I was seething with rage.

Suddenly there’s a restaurant dining room connected too the home kitchen I’m standing in, and I’m screaming at mom and Jim, but they don’t care and disregard me as crazy and irrational with a whole restaurant of people judging me silently and taking my moms side. I felt like telling people off in that moment and defending myself as not crazy, but I chose to ignore them instead, pretending the kitchen is a barrier that keeps me safe from the crowd of diners. Little Jim never apologized, and I don’t recover all my stones from the beach; there was one in particular that has gone missing and I start contemplating making Jim pay me back or just buy me a new one.