I’m rethinking prunes, the same way I rethought Fleetwood Mac.
Prunes and Fleetwood Mac were my two biggest emotional triggers. Encountering them in the course of life released a tsunami of hostility in me, and so I avoided exposure to them at all turns.
My prune trigger is a cripple thing. But my Fleetwood Mac trigger was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I lived in a college dorm when the Fleetwood Mac album “Rumours” came out. Everybody in the galaxy owned a copy of “Rumours,” except me. Why buy a copy when if I wanted to hear it I just had to step out in the hall? At any given hour “Rumours” was playing on three or four different stereos in the dorm.
It got to where I felt if I heard “Rumours” one more time I might snap and go on an ax murdering spree. That’s a terrible affliction because it’s impossible to go through life without being ambushed at some point, at a party or in the background music at a store or wherever. About the only way to avoid “Rumours” is to hide under the bed wearing powerful noise-canceling headphones, which I often considered as a lifestyle option.
Well it took 40 years, but these days I can sit through almost an entire song from “Rumours” before I start looking around for an ax. I don’t know what happened to soften me but I’m glad it did. It’s time for me to clear away old resentments. I have to make room for the new ones.
But my prune trigger came about because so many adults pushed them on me when I was a criplet. Pru