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.

If the kids are confused in school, maybe it’s the system and teachers
There’s pain in many faces I see, as reality doesn’t match dreams
Slow death of painful past leaves me trapped in fog of depression
Ellie Kemper ‘witch-hunt’ shows why it’s hard to fight real racism
Be very afraid of men (or women) who question your patriotism
Who were you before someone told you who you were supposed to be?
Faith and fear collide where dreams and reality come together
Please be patient with my site as it’s being completely remodeled
English teacher tells Wellesley grads: ‘You’re nothing special’ — not yet