The roots of anger: give me back the right to be angry

Ever find yourself containing a massive amount of anger, that necessity of screaming, breaking things, tearing the entire frigging building?

I do. Almost everyday, particularly during mornings and the night. Oh, but if you actually show you are angry then you are bipolar, mentally retarded or just insane. Fine. Nice. It’s now banned for life to be angry.

I beg to differ. Everyone gets angry. Everyone has bad days and certainly I have the f——- right of being angry when and wherever the hell I want. Don’t say “yes” when you wanted to say “no”.

It’s just I had the lamest month ever (yes, that includes Christmas and New Year) and having to stand my father ordering me around and bombarding me on how I don’t have any aims or objectives or how I don’t seem to want to grow here (here = my country) and pretend that the solution is an airport (??!!), or how writing is futile (I already realised this when I started my career, hence why I prefer to work as an editor at least, mind you) Anyway, after over 23 days standing that daily pseudo-routine, the very first day he goes back to work is also the very first day I practically get annoyed from all fronts.

How nice to wake up with your neighbour screaming and kicking her poor cat (she does it every morning oh, but seems she has the right to scream because she’s officially insane), not so long after phone rings, people ring at our door, my annoying aunt comes uninvited five minutes later along with the postman. I mean why all the crap happens all at the same time without zero response time? It makes me want to rip my hairs and scream. I had to console myself with some chair and door kicking but at my mood I could’ve seriously punched and demolished a wall (and we have a thin wall I could’ve destroyed)

Between uninvited and annoying guests (and she keeps doing this no matter how many times we told her not to f——— come by during mornings, the busiest time, plus she’s the type of person that always see the glass half-empty), mad people shouting at cats and the plutonian writer’s block I have (notice that, with time, I kept sending this block to outer orbits) I could hardly do anything in those 23 days. No work progress (and I have to finish something before February kicks in), no study at all and, obviously, zero writing. One page in 23 days. I’m appalled at the amount of times I got interrupted while trying to weave a paragraph and how, when I’m ranting like this NOBODY COMES TO BOTHER ME. Oh, the irony.

Anyway, might stop now. Perhaps I can make haste and see if I can actually write something before they decided to screw everything up. Yes, I’m so fed up.

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