R is for Rage

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

                            Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky

Fury is another of the six basic emotions. Maybe the most primitive one, next to happiness. It certainly is one which I have thought about the most, next to sadness.

It’s an emotion that affects me physically so much that I’m embarrassed.

Especially the tears. Goddamit! The last time I was frightfully angry, the poor guys around me thought I was drowning in sorrow. I was drowning alright. In the darned tears which insisted on flowing unbridled.  

Of course I should have thrown the nearest chair at someone. Torn off my hair. Or better still, torn the nearest guy’s remaining hair off. Instead I just stood rooted to the ground through the two floors that separated my feet from it. Tears flowing, hands shaking, and throat unable to function.

Then there is the terrible shut down of mental faculties. The mind is a puddle in the street after a torrential rain. Thoughts are about as clear as the sludge in the pools.

Maybe that’s why they say one should not take any decisions or send an email when one is angry.

Good idea.

Maybe that’s why they say to merely breathe deep and walk away.

Very good idea. 

Not easy.

Rage is an iron-fisted ruler.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!"