My whole life, people have been saying, Why are you so angry?
Mum had pumped me so full of anger, I couldn't throw it off.
When I am really angry, I clam up, go cold.
What annoyances are more painful than those of which we cannot complain?
There aren't very many good models of feminine rage - and the ones that we remember are ones where women take that anger internally and implode themselves in a real way, like Anna Karenina or Emma Bovary.
After a couple losses, I normally wouldn't say anything to my wife in the morning, just kind of grunt and grumble and grab my coffee and get on my way out.
I suppose there's an anger in all of us. Some hidden rage that you keep at bay.
I know I probably have a lot of rage in me that I don't show. But I'm not about to wallow in it or reveal it.
