Rage Against the . . . Self

I'm not sure what trigger me this time, but the second Aaron and I started playing tennis this evening, I was in a (nearly) silent rage.  The target for my emotional self-mutilation tonight was my decrepid tennis skills as I saw them.  

It surprises and worries me each time my blood boils like that.  For however long it lasts, I can honestly see how people can hurt the ones they love in a fit of anger, when normally they are mild peaceful people.  Luckily, Aaron is wise enough to give me space, and I am aware of myself enough to make him.  B/c I know that if he were to get too close and/or get in my face, verbally of physically, I would have been more than capable of joyfully beating the living snot out of him.

That is what worries me most - that in the heat of a rage, I am capable of willfully inflicting harm - and that I want to make somebody else hurt as much as I do.

Luckily, I know that if I stay isolated with time I can calm down on my own as if nothing ever happened.  In this case, my anger finally melted into tears, Aaron called it a game, and I sulked back home... where I chopped brocolli and cauliflower as if it were W's symbolic rod of staff.  Aaron, love him, even tried to give me a hug.  It was too soon though, and I wasn't able to receive anything just yet.  What a great guy... to bear with me through all of my hormonal waves.