Being Ousier

Simone Weil (from this morning's Brainpickings):  "It is a fault to wish to be understood before we have made ourselves clear to ourselves."

I think I know myself, and then--whap!--in comes some oddball talking out of my mouth, saying things the "real me" would never say.  It's not in my nature to snap at people.  It goes against the grain of being a nice person.

As I attempt to make myself clear to myself, I have to ask: So what's up?  Why are you snapping at complete strangers, out of the blue, lately? Freda's handyman.  The clerk at Valero.  And the waiter at Simi's on Friday night.

When our friendly waiter had the audacity to interrupt my meal ("Are you still working on that?"--a phrase that makes me feel like I'm on a demolition team tearing down foodstuffs) and the temerity to ask me why I hadn't eaten the cheese in my sag paneer, I felt something akin to rage! I'm still eating! It's none of your business!  You are interrupting our conversation with your chit chat!  (I don't remember what I actually said, but it was brusque and dismissive and rude.)

I would like to blame my recent outbursts on the the lunar cycle--which some say corresponds with lunacy. My most recent anger erupted under a full, golden moon. Or fatigue. Or missing Mike.

But what if I'm just turning into a mean person?  What if I'm turning into the bitchy Ousier, Shirley McClaine's character in Steel Magnolias?  (After my rudeness at Simi's,  Cecelia laughed and said,  "We are all turning into Ousier!")

When my anger spills over and makes a mess, it surprises me more than it does the person whose lap I've spilled it on. I drive home shaking, as if I'd been overtaken by some demon.

I'm not quite ready, however, for an exorcism. Anger would have served me well in the past, but it wasn't in my repertoire of emotions back then.  I could do depression, but not anger.  Maybe it was just in there, lurking, waiting to pounce?  But to a stranger, over something trivial that has nothing to do with him?

But it's also strangely liberating, even cathartic, for a nice person to step outside the familiar boundaries of who she is sometimes.   I plan to return to Simi's soon, to make amends with a generous tip and polite behavior.

To make myself clear to myself means admitting that I carry a snarky Ousier in the Outer Version of Me.  She unnerves and frightens me when she shows up.  But maybe we'll grow to be friends if I talk nicely to her.