I received some news last night that had me so very angry I had to leave the house. Walked down the street, tears of rage streaming down my face. Tears that I am sure sizzled right off my face, so intense was the fury.
After I walked through the dark and the drizzle for a while, I hauled out my phone to call my best girlfriend. I knew if she could she'd come scoop me and we would go out for a drink and a rant that would end up with us both falling off our barstools in laughter.
She wasn't home.
So I paced and paced and paced and then decided on a woman I've known for some years. We've socialized some, but we've never been really close, and what was eating me was kind of personal. And very intense. Probably aided by the glass of wine I'd have after dinner, ten minutes later I found myself walking up her front steps. Then I saw her husband's silhouette through the window -- they were having dinner. I went to turn away, when the door opened. There she was, her face radiating pleasure and inviting me in.
The result? I sat at the end of the table and nibbled chips off their son's plate. (He is six and proud to share.) I had a beer. And then she and I went for a walk, had a cup of tea at a local cafe, and walked some more. And she listened and sympathized, and we talked about all sorts of things: her kids, her marriage, her career issues; my career, my aspirations; the urge you get in your late thirties and forties to work for personal fulfillment, to make your mark in a meaningful way, rather than make it by the next promotion (not that I've ever been in that world, but she is, and I get it), and the increasing paycheque.
It was WONDERFUL.
I came home refreshed, with a clear head, the rage dissipated. I am a quiet person, a home-based, in-my-head person; I don't have huge numbers of friends. But I value the ones I have, and tonight, Cindy moved up a rank in my heirarchy of friends, from "casual" to "Real".