An Angry Hum. It’s been a phrase floating in and out of my head for years. I’m not sure where or why it first popped in there. I’m thinking it probably was me trying to describe the muffled shriek of life, when your calendar is packed full of stuff that has nothing to do with you personally. When you’re busy all the time with stuff of which your younger self would make fun. “What the hell Troy, working the concession stand at a girls’ soccer game!?” You know, that stuff.
And I suppose the word “angry” speaks to me. Sure it means ANGRY. I’m good at angry. Angry is like a comfortable old sweater. Always within reach when you want it, you don’t care how it looks on you, it’s been around so long you know exactly how it feels and smells. But in this case, I mostly mean “angry” in the way you’d say “angry waves” or “that cut looks angry”. Incessant, unyielding. Loud and fierce.
My life is a good place, my favorite place. But I bet like me you have that angry hum in the back of your head waiting to plow it’s way out of your face and change everything.