Anger that goes nowhere

This morning was an odd one. It began inoffensively enough. I had a little free time because it was not a workout morning. I paced myself, took my son to school, got ready gingerly. Dressed and drove off.

However, building within my psyche from the moment I awoke was this gnawing and agitated sense of unhappiness and short-tempered annoyance. It was not a strong flood of emotions. It did not turn me angry. It was simply a very subdued meta sense of distinct displeasure. I felt as if I was submerged beneath an ethereal sense of loathing and anger which would not hatch open, thus unleashing my torrent of repressed emotions. The anger nested silently beneath my surface. It lingered and when I drove to work I could feel it ebb and flow among the cobwebs of my soul. By virtue of its elusive nature, it promised worse and frowned upon me.

I felt progressively worse as I drove to work. My patience was sparse and I began aggressively tailgating this fat black chick from Oceanside who had been following me too closely and impatiently in her Altima. This was my payback. Riding her fat black ass but she was so busy twirling her hair she didn’t notice my apoplexy. Finally, I backed off because for all I know she could have kicked my ass. The drive to work was one long escalating chain of devouring emotions of bitterness and resentment. I began ruminating about some of the shit I’ve been dealing with at work and some of the sub-human cretins I work with. I chewed on the thought of morons, ignorance, laziness.

Sometimes when I feel like this I try to deconstruct my grounds for feeling such anger. When I feel like this I certainly find it easy to express my displeasure with certain people in my purview, yet, it’s not they who are making me angry specifically. This type of anger is latent and deeply embedded and as it surfaces in my heart, it’s as if I seek a focal point against which to direct my hostilities. Not consciously, so I’m barely aware of what I’m doing unless it’s in retrospect. If I wasn’t quite so self-involved, I would attribute my anger toward those items I casually despise, when in fact, they are not to blame at all. My anger is deeper. It is a pernicious antagonism that festers in my soul during these times and I want to know where it comes from. I try to deconstruct and retrace its path for it is important to me that I know why I feel this subdued and orphaned anger. Not for any reason other than to come to terms with my emotions. This is the only way to own my anger in order to be better equipped to battle it without submitting.

Ultimately, submitting to anger and bad moods in a flagrantly aggressive manner is the American way. It seems most people don’t want to know why they are mysteriously bothered. This doesn’t concern them. They aren’t concerned with the roots of their anger. They are merely happy to experience the results of this spiritual dissent. They are happy to feel angry and they wallow in the 21st Century reality-TV-like standoff-ish catharsis which allows them to fantasize over the flotsam of hostility that pools on the surface of their soul. Modern man enjoys attributing all manners of antagonism against the faceless helplessness of others, whether they be in cars or in offices or in suits. We are lazy. We would rather feel the anger and its gnawing voraciousness than exert the effort to get to know it and thus humanize it leaving us with the empty promise of a fight not fought or an insult not hurled.

We’ve been taught our anger needs an end and a retributive solution. Anger that goes nowhere is too mystical.