| | I'm a much angrier person recently. I've noticed because I'm hitting things. Or throwing things. I threw a hotbag in anger. Not in disgust. Not flippantly. It was a concerted effort. A thrust. It was obvious, it scared people. Like I was an abusive dad and they were waiting for their beating because they knew I had it in for'em if I was that mad. I wasn't mad at the hotbag. I wasn't really even mad at the woman who had made my deliveries nearly an hour late. She was insolent, but I wasn't really mad at her. I realize those types of things don't really matter. I've just generally become angry.
Today, I was opening the cheese boxes. And if you know anything about opening cheese boxes, you know you have to hit the perforated edges and then peel back the top of the box to get to the cheese. I was hitting the perforated edges and they wouldn't disconnect. They remained stuck together. So, I'd hit them faster with the same force but still without the desired result. And so needless frustration builds and the last ditch effort is a powerful smack on to the perforated edges that makes a loud popping noise. And you realize you're breathing hard and your heart's racing and you're warm with a scowl on your face. It'd be very silly if it were just a meaningless fit.
But I didn't used to do those things. I didn't used to slam my fist harder than necessary on the perforated edges of the cheese box even when they were particularly hard to get open. I didn't used to throw hot bags violently against the driver table even when I had terrible (and insulting) customers.
I wrote a poem nearly a year and a half ago about how I never used anger. That it sat quietly in a corner. Sulked.
I really am bad at everything. I can't even finish my sob story. The reason why I'm angry a lot. I know it! Maybe I shouldn't have even written this.
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| | Posted 6/8/2008 12:58 AM - 18 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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