Rage tastes like fireball

You know, it’s not just the daily rage from hearing and seeing our dear leader making more north korean pronouncements; it’s also the petty flareup from a dick head parking in a handicapped spot and then trying to clap back at my side eye.  It’s also a professed friend who never engages even while wanting engagement . . . on my side only, apparently.  That pisses me off to no end, right there.  Then there’s the existential rage of helplessness at situations beyond my control and my ensuing neurotic rage at my lack of self control.  At this point, it becomes necessary to pop another blood pressure pill and practice some dilettantish form of meditation, but I keep coming back to it, like a tongue exploring a sore tooth.  I just can’t help it sometimes.  Fireball to the rescue.  I take comfort in the fact that I can feel strong emotions, knowing that they will pass, as they always do.  Tomorrow, I will wake up in my usual sunny mood unless I dream again of trying to cook a burger on a grill that is dirty and cold and I can’t figure out how to turn it on.  That turned my nap into a restless and angry unconsciousness.  That just won’t do at all.  So, another day will come and another opportunity to create will come along, and that will soothe my rage again.

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