Irate doesn’t look good on me.
Once the initial shock value of something wears off, I tend toward being a rather even-keeled – dare I say laissez–faire – kind of person. Not good for dazzling, rousing blog posts of shiny brilliance, but much better for my day to day life. Unless you’ve done something malicious, something with the sole purpose of intentionally hurting me or someone I know [and, as evidenced, even that can take months of repeated abuse from a former friend … who I thought I previously wrote about, but apparently haven’t], then I am unlikely to go off on a tirade for longer than a day or two.
Because, really, the stress that it causes is not worth it. I get caught up and twisted up. I do need to vent. Then I should move on. To action or acknowledgment that the situation is outside of my control. Or a little of both.
Does that make me too much of a push-over? Too much of a cliched Canadian? Too resigned to online piracy and bullying and bureaucratic bullshit? Maybe. But it also keeps me sane. And, regardless of my moral indignation over who uses my photos or raises an eyebrow at my bared breast, it’s my sanity that is better for my daughter.