Angry for No Reason

I woke up this morning and, within five minutes, was angry.

I walked out into the kitchen and saw an empty box of Carman's apricot muesli bars out for recycling. The very box of Carman's apricot muesli bars that I had purchased for myself last Monday with the intention of spreading them out over my work week and providing myself with adequate sustenance. I also bought them at full price (when they're on special at Woolworths this week for $1.80 which, as you can imagine, has made me even more angry).

I had purposefully put this special box of Carman's apricot muesli bars in the back pantry knowing that, if I put them in the normal pantry, my brother would eat them all within a day. He doesn't like the taste of these things (I know) but he is also a lazy eater and Carman's apricot muesli bars are easy eating.

I texted mother immediately in a state of rage. My blood was boiling and it was only 8am; this could not be good for my blood pressure.

"What happened to my muesli bars?" the text read.
Within a minute, "I ate them. R they yours? Sorry."
My response, "Unacceptable. How many were left?"

I was hiding my anger under a thin veil of "sarcasm." This was not sarcasm, in fact. This act was wholly unacceptable. I had to remind myself of all the times mother had bought me shit and how she gave birth to me and provides food and nourishment for me. She called a second later.

"Sorry! Were they yours?" she said, her voice in hushed tones due to being in an open plan office.
"Yes, that's okay. How many were left?"
"Two. I ate one yesterday... and one today," she said.
"That's okay," I said, meaning it more this time because mothers need nourishment too.

We closed the conversation. In any case, I fully intend to go to Woolworths today and pick up at least two packs of Carman's apricot muesli bars or a slight variation of it. I may even treat myself to a small pack of Chobani just because I like the freedom of choosing a single serve Greek yoghurt from a variety of different flavours.

Speaking of being angry for no (or little) reason, when I was younger, if I woke up and everyone had left for the day already and hadn't said goodbye (despite me being asleep), I would get really angry. I would be nine or 10 and it would probably be Saturday and the family had gone grocery shopping (WITHOUT ME despite grocery shopping being one of my favourite mundane household chores in the whole entire fucking world). I would roll out of bed, disorientated, dazed and confused, and stumble around for a bit.

"Mum? Dad?" I would call out. Screw my brother (don't actually). No response. I would wander over to the lounge and look into the carport. One of the cars gone. It hit home. It was a feeling of abandonment. And no one really likes waking up alone when they don't expect it.

Other cases of childhood unreasonable anger:

1. No milk left. How dare they!

2. My mum in Malaysia. I make a birthday cake. We eat then dad cuts it all up and wraps it in individual glad wraps. What the fuck?

3. Other food related shit. All I care about is food. MY WHOLE LIFE IS FOOD.

I have written myself into a state of panic and must race to Woolworths before all my beloved Carman's apricot muesli bars are gone. I will be devastated and angry for no reason (or a really, really big reason) if they are.

I cannot leave this blog post without writing about one of my top reasons for getting angry (and often to an irrational level of anger but never irrationally).

My dad and his tendency to pick on everything I do. Here's a short list:

1. I'm baking a cake. He stands there, watches me and critiques my technique despite him never having baked anything in his entire life. His favourite tip/trick is to tell me to leave the cake in the oven for longer than necessary so the top gets nice and brown. In those moments, I tend to hope something nice and brown falls on his face.

2. In year 12, I finally gathered the courage to start wearing shorts of the shorter variety. On the first day, a day already filled with much anxiety (or not, I'm exaggerating for comedic effect), my dad looked at me with a serious look then said, "You don't have to dress like that just because everyone else does. Be yourself."

"GO FUCK YOURSELF," I really wanted to yell. Because I was dressing how I wanted to dress. I like the feeling of bare legs (it's easy, breezy, beautiful) and I like legs in general. They TAKE you places.

Later, after three more comments over the length of a week, I was so completely furious that I started ripping into (read: unpicking) the hem of my shorts in an effort to make them longer. My dad comes along (just like he does when I'm baking a fucking cake) and says, "What are you doing?"
"Making them longer."
"Oh, good."

"GO FUCK YOURSELF!"

3. I started buying low fat yoghurt a little while ago in an effort to make my body low fat (it hasn't worked... maybe because I've been supplementing the low fat yoghurt with the Toots and Connoisseur cookies and cream. Oops). My dad, who went super healthy and into fitness about seven years ago (it disgusts me), sees me eating my yoghurt and says, "I know you're very conscious about this sort of thing so I thought I should tell you that it's quite fattening to eat so much dairy."

I choked back on tears and the yoghurt-bile that was coming up in my throat.

This time, I turned around and said, "I don't give a shit." Then I finished my goddamn yoghurt (now, it tasted tainted).

J