rebel with a (valid) cause

When you look at me, I know the first thought that crosses your mind.

That girl is rebellious.

Clearly the face of an anarchist.

The thing is, I don’t rebel in the ways most teenagers do (I just realized that I am almost out of the teenage demographic. Minor panic attack). My rebellion, like most aspects of my life, takes place entirely in my head, usually without any indication to the outside world that I am, in fact, rebelling.

I’d say that when it comes to cleanliness, I am fairly good at keep things tidy. Of course, during periods of stress, my living space becomes ripe with what I like to call “controlled chaos,” but otherwise, I like things neat. Such was not the case when I was a kid. But that story is for another time.

In general, I am good with chores. I will help out. But, when I am feeling rebellious, I become difficult.

Sometimes, on a whim, I’ll decide to do the dishes or vacuum or clean the mirrors or do something else banal that still counts as productive. Right as I am about to start said activity, someone, usually my older sister, will ask me to do the task that I had already decided I was going to do.

One would think that someone asking me to do something would provide the extra incentive to do it (another thing to put on my to-do list!). If you haven’t guessed it already, this is the point in the story where the rebelliousness kicks in.

I nod, say that I will do it, and then do it. Simple as that. Maybe I’ll grumble a little to express my displeasure.

But it is in no way simple in my head.

When I initially decide to do the deed, I feel happy. I have a concrete thing to do that I can accomplish and cross off of a list. I daresay I am even excited. But once someone asks me to do the same task, the magic is lost. No longer am I embarking on a journey by my own volition. No, that freedom has been taken away. I am demoted from explorer to oppressed. That former enthusiasm is replaced by rage.

At this point, I realize that I am crazy, and there is no possible way to explain this phenomenon without confirming suspicions that I should be locked up. Yes, sometimes even I am self-aware.

Rage. Right. I am brimming with incendiary anger (flames, on the side of my face, heaving, breathing, etc.). But, because I realize that this rage is irrational and therefore cannot be blamed on anyone but myself, I keep it in to the point where I am seething.

So what do I do? I rebel. I procrastinate. I'm not going to do the thing you wanted me to do at your earliest convenience, even though I was literally about to start it. Then, when I feel like I have rebelled enough, I take my frustration out on the chore. The chore started it, and therefore must be punished. I mean, I’ll still do the chore. Of course. But I won’t like it.