(Starting this week, you now listen to Amy’s column on YouTube or click the link above)
Journaling is all the rage. That’s why I’m starting a Rage Journal. It’ll be healthy to get the anger out.
Life always needs new coping strategies, so when I quickly glanced at an article about keeping a Hateful Journal, I was excited to try something new.
The article seemed long, and I didn’t have time to read it, but the headline said it all: “Keeping a Hateful Journal is Good For You.”
Bingo! I’m in.
From what I gather after not reading the article, you write about the things you’re hateful for. It’s like my personal Burn Book where I just rip people and things and stuff to shreds, for my eyes only.
Imagine the horror if someone got hold of my Hateful Journal. Do you recall the 1989 fiasco when Bryant Gumbel of the “Today” show wrote a mean manifesto about his co-worker Willard Scott? Gumbel wrote an internal memo meant only for the show’s executive producer but, lucky for the scandal loving public, it was leaked. NBC missed a great marketing opportunity for a live memo reading sponsored by Smucker’s.
That won’t happen with my private Hateful Journal.
No one will ever know how my skin crawls when a food flavor is called “original.” What does that mean? There is no description of … anything. Is it spicy, sweet, cheesy, tasteless? Sure, it’s the first flavor of the product the creators came up with, but it also says nothing. Nothing. How does that chicken taste? Original. Describe the flavor of that cookie. It’s just tastes original. No. Nope. Nothing.
Because my Hateful Journal is secret, only I will know that when a speaker asks, “Are you ready to have a good time?” and the audience says, “Yes,” and then the speaker screams, “I can’t hear you! I said, are you ready to have a good time?”
I’m secretly wishing I could slash his tires. Nothing we do is ever good enough for the speaker, and he shames us into some fake cheering sequence thinking it is making us have more fun. It’s not.
Dear Diary,
It makes me mad. Mad, I say.
Online recipes are great. What’s not great is having to read the blogger’s story about a recent trip to Wichita that sparked a memory about their late great-Aunt Aggie who made a wicked chicken pot pie. You can’t force your chicken pot pie memories on me. I never even met great-Aunt Aggie, so why do I have to hear about your whole stupid weekend so I can learn how to make a buttery, flaky crust?
And yes, I know there is usually a “jump to recipe” tab so I don’t have to read about great-Aunt Aggie’s favorite Wichita haunts, but that takes away the fun of getting myself all worked up, which I can now conveniently write about in my Hateful Journal.
It’s cathartic to vent to my Hateful Journal. Perhaps the article has more tips to really make this self-care practice worth my time. As I reopen the magazine, I come to realize one very important point: The article is about a GRATEFUL Journal, not a Hateful Journal. And I’ve been doing it all wrong.
Dear Diary,
I am grateful my readers don’t judge me …
