What's for breakfast

I asked my son this question once, well, actually it was what do you want for breakfast, and he replied, "Anger."

I have been seething with anger these last few days, and thinking of my friend who was recently diagnosed with a serious psychological disorder. She had been experiencing a lot of anger due to a marital situation and, thanks to the ineptitude of the medical profession, ended up with her brain exploding, sort of, and in hospital.

As I fumed away the days, heart racing, head about to burst, I was able to blanket the e-niverse with angry, affronted emails to all the people with power over the target of my rage. Even as I could picture the snaps and sparks of synapses short circuiting, I could expel the heat and fire through my fingertips. Zap you fucker, how's this for your permanent personnel file? I even got to go a meeting and shout at the offender, not in volume, but in that I'm-on-the-edge-and-I'm-taking-you-all-with-me kind of voice that makes everyone else at the table very uneasy. It felt great, like I’d just spend the past week in a marathon yoga session, breathing.

My friend had no such recourse. There is no Director of Spouses to whom you can blast off incendiary complaints demanding corrective action. She was in a sealed box with her anger and no exhaust vents.

Family units fulfill many of our primal needs, but at a cost.

Comments

[Jo]

It's so interesting, your take on it. I totally have to think about it in terms of anger. Anger at myself, too, I think, and my inability to deal with anything at the present time. My mother's illness, and etc.