Mood Poison

Bait taken.

Words heard; buttons pressed; mood tenuous. This time, I know a few things.

The bait was taken, but it hadn’t been placed. It was delivered innocently within a package of words that held no ill intent. Words bearing a message of help from a position of goodwill.

The bait was taken, but identified. This is bait. This is mood poison. No; this could be mood poison. This would have been mood poison. Whoa - this still could be poison. That’s a doozy to see in your own head from the outside, a mood partially forming and realize it could go either way; it’s waiting for a nudge. You’ve a lifetime of nudging left but now you’re the tiny guru on your own shoulder asking, must this be? In a moment you realize that the course of this… thing… this trigger, this feeling, this entity is as yet undetermined. Inside myself, as independent as if it were outside, barely above the line of awareness, is this thing. Left, it’s poison and I’m mad. Justifiably angry, misunderstood, alone. Right, and I choose to rise; expend a bit of energy and learn instead of burn.

I choose the right. Give my little Yoda a sly, so-subtle-no-one-else-saw-it high five, rub my hands together and break it down. Must this be? What else could it be? Why was this upsetting? What was the (perceived) bad part here? Was it actually bad? Challenge the automatic. Challenge the ‘already, always’ kind of thoughtless, learned response.

—

It was the fish.

—

Reference: The edamame-garbanzo salad, like any other meal, can become unappealing if consumed too much, too frequently. I was reminded of this and felt insulted because I know already and because I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. At the moment I could justify anger; looking back and above and it was nothing.