Superficial Bad Mood Cure

I tend to be moody at times-a trait I'm not proud of. I can't be sure if it's because I'd rather vent about my frustrations to my husband, etc. than actually confront people when they do something I have a hard time with. (People who are really wonderful but occasionally don't do things the way I'd like them to really. Wow, as I'm writing this I'm feeling sillier and sillier about my attitude.)

You see, I do have your garden variety of passive-aggressive responses when I'm upset. You know, I'll become suddenly quiet and unable to make eye contact with anyone...I'll steadfastly refuse to laugh at anything or anyone no matter how hilarious, or I'll suddenly disappear and hope that I'll be found. (This plan usually backfires- the longer you sit by yourself waiting to be found, the more time you have to think of things you're mad about.)

Anyway, yesterday my solution was to skip off to the store, buy a discount box of auburn hair dye and have my mom dye my hair for me. She did a great job...although my hair is rather thick so there didn't seem to be quite enough dye to give my hair a uniformly auburn color. My roots are dashing, however...though a little redder than I expected. (As a side question, is it better to cut off a few of the less-auburn inches, or to buy another box of dye and dye the ends of my hair again?)

I think anger is one way area of my life in which I often fail. I believe in God- I believe he loves everyone and that his powerful version of love can overcome so many of our problems. But I just don't live that out often enough. I'd like to- because my version of love (loving those who love me back- loving when people make me happy- loving when I feel a warm fuzzy desire to love) is shallow- my version of love does not make the world a better place because it's conditional.

Perhaps every day that I look into the mirror for the next several weeks I'll behold a red headed grudge holder. And that image can humble me a little...(that or the harsh chemicals I used on my scalp can eat away at the pride/anger cortex of my moody little brain.) Because if I can't learn to love...learn to forgive...and frankly just learn to get over myself...then I will live a miserable life and will pass that on to my kids. (And that last part is probably the best reason I can think of to deal with this weakness now...preferably before Charlotte can talk- and thereby start giving silence treatments of her own.)

Whew...alright...excuse my overly-honest ramblings.