I have a confession to make: I love to rant.
I love to really get on a tear and get it all out. I love to give voice to everything that is making me crazy – raise my blood pressure, turn the air purple, be irrational (right, but irrational) and get really loud.
The only people who get to hear these rants, however, are my three awesome dogs, fantastic man, and best friend. (And if I’m being really honest, my long-suffering parents get to ‘appreciate’ them as well.)
There’s just something so liberating about letting it all out. Getting it OFF my chest, into the air, where it can blow away. And yes, I do sometimes worry that the negativity of ranting just breeds more things to rant about. I’m more positive than I am rantful. (I know that isn’t a word – it should be!)
I think it’s those rants that allow me to blow up and then let it go.
I’d love to be that type of person who can just smile and let it roll off her back. Truth is, I’m not. I take it personally, I get offended, I think about it – and I rant. Let’s just say that stuff DOES roll off my back but that I just have to jump up and down, stomp my feet, and maybe yell a bit to help it along.