There is a school in Canada that has a designated buddy bench. If you are feeling lonely, you plop down and within a minute some kids will run over and invite you to play with them. Or sit with you. At least that is the idea, and according to the children who were interviewed, it works. 

The notion of being able to place yourself in the stream of friendliness intrigues me. Even after all these years of marriage, words are still sometimes too wide of a barrier. I want John to know I am feeling lost, or angry, or beastly, but sometimes, I can't say it out loud. 

A couple I respect has an agreement that I thought was brilliant. If one of them wants to talk, they ask a question.

"I have something I need to say. Is this a good time for you to listen?"

Another woman I knew had one of those topsy turny dolls, with a happy maiden on one end and a wolf on the other. She would perch it on a shelf, and it would be a heads up to her kids about what kind of mood she was in. While I never tried it myself, I have remembered it, and there are aspects about it that appeal to me. One is the separation of a person from their feelings. The mirage is that I and my emotions are inseparable, which is a lie. It is when I can get a margin between my reactions and myself that I can actually choose freely. I also like the possibility of walking over to the beast and turning it on its head. 

"Take that. I am a human being again."