I am angry.
It’s hard for me to admit that. I’ve written in the recent past — here and here — about the reasons for this, so I’m not going to waste time explaining the reasons again.
I spent most of my 45-minute drive home from the office on the phone. As I locked the office door, I made a phone call that I thought would take 60 seconds, but it dragged on and on. As I finally pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant for dinner, I realized that my muscles were tight and my jaw was clenched.
I felt incredibly angry. It wasn’t anger about anything that had just happened. It was more long-repressed anger seeping out. As I turned the car off and sat in the fading twilight for a few moments, I felt a rush of irrational anger and misery.
I wanted to explode. I wanted to cry. I wanted to angrily scream out to ask somebody why life doesn’t work the way I was taught it was supposed to.

Urban Meyer’s drunken behavior points to deeper character issues
What’s your goal? Do you want to blow off steam or find solutions?
Memory Lane is seductive when
Once you taste what is possible, you can’t accept being ‘normal’
Freedom matters more than safety, even if you can’t see that
Good relationships need intimacy, but do they have to include sex?
Part of me loves you dearly, but warring parts are hostile or afraid
I wasn’t allowed to express need, so I’ve spent life traveling alone