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Righteous anger, that is.  You may know the kind of which I write.  The kind of blazing rage that swoops through one’s entire being, igniting hatefulness and spite in its path.  But most of all, indignation.  The sort that says, “how dare you (to someone else)” or “I can’t even believe my freakin’ ears; how can someone (else) be so ignorant, mean spirited, dense… .”  The variety of anger that sits and stays for a long visit.  Settling in and stinking up the whole rest of the day or evening.  And even when the next day arrives, it’s hard to take that step back to assess one’s own part in the fracas.  Difficult to find the detour around the righteous indignation, past the poor me’s, leaving one in an emotional hungover state.  Wrung out but still sort of pissed off.  Too tired though to re-engage or rage on.

No good.  These times, those emotions.

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