I know nothing about any of these things.
I got angry last night, and found myself engaged in a furious email correspondence with an administrator from one of my various English teaching gigs. It would bore you to go into the specific details of our disagreement, but suffice to say that it was over a minor matter, and I was right. Very, very right.
But that's not the point, sadly.
"Go for a walk," I tell myself, "calm down first, before you reply to him. If you send the angry words you are thinking right now, you're really going to regret it."
Yet I don't listen. I can't stop typing long enough to listen to my own voice warning me. I am too angry. "How dare he!" I want to stop myself, I want to make my points more respectfully, but I just can't. It's as if I'm not myself, but instead, some swirling ball of rage with some fingers and a keyboard.
And then, moments after I click the send button, that rage lets go of me just as quickly as it picked me up. It feels like I've fallen flat onto a hard floor.
Just then, a tired T comes home to find a lamentable me, lying face down on our bed.
"You're not gonna believe what I just told my supervisor to do," I groan.
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