I’m rife with it.
Everywhere I turn, I feel anger at someone.
At the man who scowled at me for sitting in an empty chair he preferred to remain empty.
At the shop whose model of service is maddeningly inefficient.
At the woman who doesn’t need to suck my cock.
At the man and woman who didn’t reply to my thoughtful e-mail.
At the woman who sent me the thoughtless e-mail.
At the man with the beautiful girlfriend.
And so on.
Sometimes, this anger is “justified,” whatever that means. Sometimes, it’s ridiculous.
Always, it’s barometric. It indicates internal distress. And I’m feeling it.
The mystery is, “Why?”