Archive Tag:rage

Drabble 83 – Coruscant

Gems by fdecomite

When I was younger, I used to hide myself away. Not literally; hide and seek was usually, among my group of friends, a reason to scare one another. Somewhere in childhood I learned that I should be embarrassed of things, and I started speaking more softly, hiding my intelligence and curiosity, and dressing more like a tomboy because being a girl, to my understanding, was to be a lot of things that I definitively was not.

While the old instincts to be embarrassed still linger, I no longer try to hide myself. I wear my gender and all its hyper-feminine trappings proudly; I’m no longer afraid of lipstick or dresses or high heels, even as I recognize their patriarchal roots. I wear them because I like them, and because I enjoy the feeling of seeing somebody’s face change when they assume one thing about me from the way I look and discover another.

I had these things shoved on me because that’s what I was supposed to do or be like or enjoy, and I hated them. But as I’ve grown up, I’ve found that I like cooking and gardening and wearing pastels. There’s no harm in any which way you choose to present yourself or spend your time, provided, of course, that it’s you doing the choosing.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 82 – Quaintrelle

Marie Antoinette. Sofia Coppola. Columbia Pictures. 2006.

While I prefer things a little on the simple side, there’s something intensely interesting to me about opulence to the point of turning lurid. I wouldn’t want to live somewhere that looks baroque or rococo, but I’m fascinated by the ways that layering beauty on beauty on beauty feels grotesque.

Maybe it’s because I’ve never been rich that I find the ways that wealthy people spend their money so intriguing. I think of what I’d do if I had an extra thousand dollars per month and some of it is certainly self-serving, but gilded banisters and mother-of-pearl dishes are low on my to-do list, especially not together.

There is an assumption that, if somebody who is not wealthy has something nice, that they do not deserve it, that they should spend their money on something else, something practical. Luxury is reserved for the wealthy. That’s BS. The poor, the disadvantaged, the middle class, are just as, if not more, deserving than the rich. I think about this when I splurge and get dessert with dinner, when that small voice in the back of my mind says that I haven’t earned it, because I’m not worthy.

To that voice, I offer two manicured middle fingers and a smile.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 16 – Storm in a Cup

Storm in a Cup
Not pictured: storm.

I have an unusual kind of temper. Little things will send me into a cursing, maniacal rage, while things that should make me blood-boilingly angry make me quiet and patient and determined.

Last night, the meal I was cooking dripped oil onto the bottom of the oven and filled the house up with smoke, and I wasn’t mildly annoyed about having to open the windows and fan it out, I was livid. How dare the pan drip oil? How dare that oil burn and smoke? How dare such things impede my dinner?

(I had to stop and clean the oven midway through cooking and, somehow, the meal came out better than if I had simply cooked it normally. Still angry about it, though.)

People who don’t know me well tend to think that I’m quiet and nice and never swear. In fact, I’m chatty, I enjoy swearing enough to blister your ears, and I’m at least ninety percent powered by rage. I’m a volatile mixture in a misleading package, and my god do I have emotions to spare.

So, here’s a drabble.