Apparently I’ve Always Been Angry


Over the last few months I have been taking a first pass through the mountains of paper at home since it is my preference not to be ambushed by the producers of Hoarders

I came across some correspondence from an ex who acknowledged that he should have known what he was getting himself into because my letters make no bones about my inability to suffer fools lightly. 

No sh!t Sherlocke.


Obviously I don’t remember what I wrote to him when I was in Chicoutimi, Quebec for this six week bursary program after first year but I do remember the family I was billeted with hated me. 

Okay, hate may be too strong a word but they did not like me.  There was another girl billeted at the same house who had been in immersion since grade two so her French language skills were a bit more advanced than mine. 

My introversion made being social in a language that I was four years rusty exacerbated the problem- especially in comparison with someone who was, for all intents and purposes, fluent. 

Of course it didn’t help that my shyness can come across as snobbery. 

The family would take my roommate out on excursions (like horseback riding, d@mnit) and completely exclude me. I “rebelled” by making myself extra scarce, staying out with friends and sneaking into the house a few hours before leaving extra early for school. 

My friends and I were constantly getting in trouble for speaking English and she and her friends would look down their noses at us- even though they were only one level above us. 

Blah, blah, blah. 

When I get my teeth into something, especially if it relates to injustices (real or perceived), I am like a rabid bulldog. I likely vented in the letters to my ex and scared the crap out of him. 

That should have been an indication of things to come. To be fair, we were very young and everything worked out the way it should have. I just wish I did not waste so much time being hurt and angry and all those feelings in-between. 

Though I could do without the regret, I don’t apologize for feeling; being passionate about those things that are important. It is just interesting that I was as self-aware in my 20’s as (I hope) I am now. 

I am the first to admit that I was naïve (still am sometimes) but I had a greater sense of who I was as an individual. I didn’t remember it that way but I guess I was. 

Everyone has a tendency to re-write history. Sometimes this is the only way we can cope with what is happening and sometimes it is just skewed perception or flawed memory but I am more than a touch relieved to know that I have always been “this way”. 

Maybe I am not on an accelerated slide towards curmudgeonliness. (Is that even a word?) 



~ by angryegg on April 12, 2010.

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