I would never identify as "angry." But lately...
I like to think that I am a rather level-headed person. Excitable, sure, but I think that I manage to maintain my composure rather well. I'm not confrontational, and I tend to be more verbal, reasonable, and calm with my altercations. I remember telling a significant other once that I hated confrontation because I can be a very vile human being when the situation arises. And it completely freaked him out.
I don't blame him. It was our second date.
But it's true! When I am in a situation that calls for confrontation, I can almost feel the serpentine nastiness curl and course through my body, just waiting to be expelled. It's an unfortunate blemish, this cruelty that lives in my blood, to an otherwise jovial and kind demeanor. Isn't it funny how easily friendliness and loathing can share a vessel?
It's never large scale events or tragedies that spark the rage, the meanness. It's always the most menial, pointless moments that prick my skin and hook just deep enough below the surface to stick. How silly is that? That the tiniest jab or underhanded comment can be such a catalyst for destruction.
Sometimes I have to take a step down from the podium of life and wonder why such tiny, insignificant instances can create such a painful rift between knowing "this too shall pass" and wanting to act on the present emotional tension.
But soul searching is draining.
And there are just some days where I just want to watch everything burn, burn, burn. Brick and brimstone style. Pillars of flame, erupting in catastrophic, blazing bursts of cleansing, fortifying fire.
But I'm not an angry person.
Just in need of some work.