So I've just walked up the road rehearsing an argument I'll never have. It got pretty heated, and I've got to say I gave it to him pretty hard, some low blows, tres vitriolic. Thing is, after it finished there was this waterfall of relief and I felt, well, invigorated?
This is typical of me, imagining how the world will be before it is; although in this case the argument will never happen - though clearly a part of me wants it to. The sense of relief stunned me; I found myself observing my emotions - realising my capacity for rage, as though the feelings I thought I was aware of weren't truely accessed, and had fermented into this imaginary tirade.
I looked back at myself, pausing for a moment in the mirror trap, witnessing the infinity of emotion that was always passed on, but never truly seen. In that acceleration of force without meaning I began to grasp the futility of my anger, to see the absurdity of myself, walking in heated debate - without a soul around, struggling against situations that were outside my control, and could remain on the outskirts of importance should I wish.
The sense of amusement that followed the acceptance of the present was equally unexpected. There I was, fully fight-flighted, adrenaline spiking through my nervous system - red-faced like a victim of an ambush by the Bash Street Kids from the Beano, and equally perplexed about the whereabouts of my assailant.
Before I started this blog and website I'd been pretty down. learning to understand how I feel, and what I try to deny to myself has been a tricky process - which got worse, before it started getting better. In a strange way it's meant me becoming the 'post-modern subject' I've spent a lot of my life writing about - stepping outside myself to fully understand my feelings. I've become my own version of Schrödinger's cat - neither alive nor dead till observed. This act of observation has always been an act of control though, and in observing the feeling it is in my power to note its workings, and decide its impact.
Of course you may also point out that the cat is both alive and dead until we open the box. True enough, which means that the strategy of observation could easily go both ways, and release emotions that I hadn't acknowledged before, or kill off feelings that are emerging - I suppose that's the problem with putting cats in boxes, you're guarenteed to get scratched.