Anger is not necessarily a bad thing and can be the driving force behind taking positive action and getting things done. Wrath, however, is something different. Less controlled, more self-indulgent. It is a surge of power, an adrenaline-fuelled rage. Much like a sneeze, or an orgasm, the explosive release feels good at the time. Then it all ebbs away and there you are in the debris, having to fetch a dustpan and brush, feeling much like the Incredible Hulk when the muscles deflate again and he's left in just his tattered trousers, in the drizzle.
While I have worked hard to tame the raging beast within over the years, there are still times when the fragile thread tethering it to the radiator in the basement of my mind simply snaps and off it bounds wild-eyed and free, fists flailing.
Wrath has caused me to, among other things:
- Put my fist through a door
- Kick another off its hinges
- Have a fight at a wedding reception
- Punch a man in a nightclub
- Smash various household items
- Hit someone in the face with a "Talking Tina" doll
- Start blogging