My house got broken into today. I walked in and surprised the thieves and they bolted, leaving my room behind looking like a war zone. Everything pulled off the shelves, drawers emptied out, cupboard door wrenched open.
I was on my way to the roof to fix a faulty cable dish, had my tool bag with me. Quite a fool I must have looked. Cussing and screaming at them, waving a hammer, as they jumped on to the neighbours’ roof and ran. I don’t recall being this angry in a very long time. It was bloodlust. The fear and anger, the sense of violation, capitulating to an overwhelming rage.
And it’s still burning. I don’t know what to do with it. The loss and pain of the last few weeks seem to have found an outlet in the form of this anger that I can’t quite handle. I half feel like going out there and picking a fight with somebody, just to feel my knuckles skinned against a jaw.
I think I just might go for a ride.