Fictionless Friday: My Mad Mad Mad Mad World

I’ve been told that I don’t handle my anger well. Or rather, I don’t express it at all. And that worries me because this person also told me that unexpressed anger festers inside and becomes cancer. Great. I’m giving myself cancer by not throwing a proper temper tantrum every once in a while.

But where exactly does one throw a temper tantrum in modern society? I’ve beat my fists against my bed, screaming into my pillow at the top of my lungs, but the release is minimal. It’s not explosive enough.

What I want to do is hurl glass bottles against a wall and scream like a banshee. I want to take a baseball bat and smash a thousand mirrors into sharp, ragged pieces. I want to press my foot down on my gas pedal and close my eyes, feeling my car go faster and faster than I’ve ever driven. I want to throw myself off a cliff into the ocean below. That’s how angry I am right now.

Yes, I’m expressing with my words, but after I finish writing this, I’m still going to want to smash watermelons with a hammer.

So my friend is right – I don’t know how to express anger because right now, I want to destroy something. Total annihilation!

But I don’t want to get arrested or tossed into the looney bin, so I suppose I’ll have to settle for the little things – kickboxing class, Whack-A-Mole, kneading dough. I better buy extra loaf pans, because I have a lot of rage to work out.

Bread, anyone?