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.
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