I felt so angry this morning that I could barely sit still. Imagine screaming full-blast without taking a breath for five whole minutes. Stop and really imagine it, five minutes with no lessening of intensity or volume. Were I to do that, it wouldn't capture the depth of this feeling. That's what happens, I guess, when you spend 36 years of your life not allowing yourself to feel the way you really feel.
Oh, I'm spoiling for a target this morning, some legitimate target that I can unload on, but I don't think I'm likely to find one. The sticking point is "legitimate." Many targets abound, from minor annoyances to systemic frustrations to really, really difficult people. But I feel thermonuclear, and unless I run across a kid-diddling, kitten-stomping terrorist ripe for a beat-down, I think I'll have to find another outlet. I have to find some way to dissipate this feeling. I really, really do. I am just about out of storage space.
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