I got up this morning and wandered into the kitchen hungry and jonesing for a hit of caffeine. The sink was full of dishes and the dishwasher needed to be unloaded. I growled, not out loud, but in my mind. Bill was there and I didn't want to frighten him.
Some days, like today, are angry days. I don't really know why. I just know that I occasionally experience free-floating anger. I have learned to be aware of my anger, otherwise I run the risk of undiscriminately spraying ammunition that might hit innocent bystanders. Like a peevish child, my anger needs to be soothed and gently rocked.
I imagine what it might be like to harness the anger and use it in my writing. I am not there yet, but I dream of the possibility.
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