I am the warrior, and heart to heart you'll win...if you survive
LJ Idol Week 19: Hear me Roar
Everyone has a little warrior inside who, when needed, roars a little battle cry and opens a can of whoop ass. Maybe your little warrior cry is "Oh Hell no," "Oh no he didn't," or even "Don't ma'am me!" It doesn't matter what it is, it is just something that gets your system going to defend your honor and make things right.
I imagine my inner warrior is an old man named Morty. He sits on a comfy couch eating ice cream and potato chips, although probably not at the same time. When something happens and I need to confront someone he turns the volume on his TV a little louder so he won't hear the call. If I keep trying, all he does is respond with a wave of his hand and a exasperated, "Kids, today. Bah!" Morty may open a can but it would be soda instead of some whoop ass.
At least it's a light and refreshing soda.
I am simply afraid of confrontation. I don't know if I bought into the theory that girls are nice and don't complain or if there is some other reason. Maybe I confronted a bully and received a wedgie and taunting for my troubles, or maybe in a past life I was disemboweled for my defiance and I would like to avoid that bout of pain again, thank you very much. Either way, Morty and I just seethe at the injustice of stupid people and wait for the heart attack that eventually comes when you bury your anger and don't deal with the situation. I do rant and rail, but to anyone other than the person I should and then I'm stuck impotent in the situation and there are no little blue pills for that.
At the first night of Shiva for my mother, someone turned to me and scolded me for sitting during the Mourner's Kaddish (prayer). I simply stared at her, pouted, and then ranted after she left. Heck, I still rant. How dare she! I hadn't eaten or slept much in days and had no energy to stand. My mother had just died, for god's sake! It still bothers me. I never said anything at the time because Morty was enjoying a particularly good episode of "As the World Turns."
If I call up customer service to have something fixed, Morty clams up. "Bah," he'll eventually say and grabs another soda. Meanwhile, I flounder trying to get something fixed or my money back. Nothing gets done and I stay within perceived rules. Eventually, I give up and make the Husband do it.
When a neighbor constantly rode his dirt bike next door with the engine echoing around his little five by five dirt track, I didn't complain to him or call the town. Instead, I plotted ways to make him suffer. I thought of all the things I could place on the track to cause him to go flying over the handles and hurt his leg. I thought about leaving flaming poo on the doorstep because nothing says "stop riding your damn bike" like flaming poo. Of course both would be wrong and he'd probably die or I would burn his house down.
I don't think you can trade in your inner warrior. I doubt there is an Inner Warriors R' Us store where I can buy a new one, but maybe I can try to build him up. Maybe start by getting my inner child to run across his lawn. Eventually, he'll have to start yelling. That could get his heart rate up and get him to start roaring for me in other situations. I could even time my inner child to run on his lawn when I need to call customer service. Of course, I may just blurt out "Get off my lawn you damn kids!" instead of something coherent, but it's a start.
If that doesn't work, an exercise regime could work. I bet if he was so thick with muscles that his head couldn't turn my Morty would be more willing to start some confrontations. Eventually, he could wreak havok on unsuspecting bystanders. Or he'd just go out and make movies, later running for Governor of California. I just can't have that on my conscience. And do they make weight systems and tiny treadmills for your inner warrior?
Honestly, I don't think can change little Morty. And that's okay. Not all of us were meant to be Tarzan swinging in to save Jane. Some of us are meant to be Jane. Maybe someday something will be important enough to get a roar from Morty and a can of whoop ass. In the meantime, I'll enjoy my soda.
Everyone has a little warrior inside who, when needed, roars a little battle cry and opens a can of whoop ass. Maybe your little warrior cry is "Oh Hell no," "Oh no he didn't," or even "Don't ma'am me!" It doesn't matter what it is, it is just something that gets your system going to defend your honor and make things right.
I imagine my inner warrior is an old man named Morty. He sits on a comfy couch eating ice cream and potato chips, although probably not at the same time. When something happens and I need to confront someone he turns the volume on his TV a little louder so he won't hear the call. If I keep trying, all he does is respond with a wave of his hand and a exasperated, "Kids, today. Bah!" Morty may open a can but it would be soda instead of some whoop ass.
At least it's a light and refreshing soda.
I am simply afraid of confrontation. I don't know if I bought into the theory that girls are nice and don't complain or if there is some other reason. Maybe I confronted a bully and received a wedgie and taunting for my troubles, or maybe in a past life I was disemboweled for my defiance and I would like to avoid that bout of pain again, thank you very much. Either way, Morty and I just seethe at the injustice of stupid people and wait for the heart attack that eventually comes when you bury your anger and don't deal with the situation. I do rant and rail, but to anyone other than the person I should and then I'm stuck impotent in the situation and there are no little blue pills for that.
At the first night of Shiva for my mother, someone turned to me and scolded me for sitting during the Mourner's Kaddish (prayer). I simply stared at her, pouted, and then ranted after she left. Heck, I still rant. How dare she! I hadn't eaten or slept much in days and had no energy to stand. My mother had just died, for god's sake! It still bothers me. I never said anything at the time because Morty was enjoying a particularly good episode of "As the World Turns."
If I call up customer service to have something fixed, Morty clams up. "Bah," he'll eventually say and grabs another soda. Meanwhile, I flounder trying to get something fixed or my money back. Nothing gets done and I stay within perceived rules. Eventually, I give up and make the Husband do it.
When a neighbor constantly rode his dirt bike next door with the engine echoing around his little five by five dirt track, I didn't complain to him or call the town. Instead, I plotted ways to make him suffer. I thought of all the things I could place on the track to cause him to go flying over the handles and hurt his leg. I thought about leaving flaming poo on the doorstep because nothing says "stop riding your damn bike" like flaming poo. Of course both would be wrong and he'd probably die or I would burn his house down.
I don't think you can trade in your inner warrior. I doubt there is an Inner Warriors R' Us store where I can buy a new one, but maybe I can try to build him up. Maybe start by getting my inner child to run across his lawn. Eventually, he'll have to start yelling. That could get his heart rate up and get him to start roaring for me in other situations. I could even time my inner child to run on his lawn when I need to call customer service. Of course, I may just blurt out "Get off my lawn you damn kids!" instead of something coherent, but it's a start.
If that doesn't work, an exercise regime could work. I bet if he was so thick with muscles that his head couldn't turn my Morty would be more willing to start some confrontations. Eventually, he could wreak havok on unsuspecting bystanders. Or he'd just go out and make movies, later running for Governor of California. I just can't have that on my conscience. And do they make weight systems and tiny treadmills for your inner warrior?
Honestly, I don't think can change little Morty. And that's okay. Not all of us were meant to be Tarzan swinging in to save Jane. Some of us are meant to be Jane. Maybe someday something will be important enough to get a roar from Morty and a can of whoop ass. In the meantime, I'll enjoy my soda.