Anger is sad’s bodyguard.
“What are we going to do, me always late, you getting angry?” But I am not angry, I insist. There is no point in expressing angry resentment of your lateness, it just starts the encounter unpleasantly. I am aware you are always late, and came fifteen minutes after the time agreed and brought a book. I appreciated the charm of the bar, tried to guess if the rugby on the telly was league or union, and relaxed with a glass of wine. I enjoyed my sense of anticipation.
It could be a power thing. I would get angry if it would do me any good- not fight or flight, but flare up or give up. I made the best of it. I analysed the situation with the intention of pacifying any resentful or angry feelings. I might have been angry if lateness had been a surprise- or just relieved, depending again on expectation. So thinking emotionally and rationally dance together.
-I would like you to be on time.
-Now you’re guilt tripping me.
No- not my intention- I am still not expressing myself well, not saying this: I know you are working hard. It would be a gift you could give me.
She met a lesbian couple. One was butch, with short hair and bovver boots, now taking T to bulk up. She found her bulky enough already. The other- the woman-
They are both women!
-the femme, long hair, very pretty, make-up. She could not understand how she could be attracted to that particular style of masculinity in a woman. Well, just accept that she is. They are a couple. It is a common way of being lesbian, the butch/femme couple, but that could just mean that it fits particular personalities rather than it is a cliché to which they conform.
I can accept my friend’s distress if she can keep quiet about it generally. Or, I can hear her confession- “I find this weird”- as long as she does not want me to endorse it. People are queer. I want others to accept my weirdness, so have to accept theirs.