Primal scream

I have to imagine the caveman was one of the most emotionally balanced of all bipeds. Cave is messy? Scream a little bit. Dinosaurs making a mess of the front yard? Scream a little more. Former babbling brook becomes raging river that prevents movement to the hunting fields? Scream a lot.

To put it simply (for the cave people in the reading audience), there wasn’t a lot of time for sitting around and brooding about the bullshit that went on around the cave. You just yell, let that primal scream get rid of all the worthlessness, and get back to kicking some mastadon ass.

Somewhere between the time our foreheads were really big and the time doctors started prescribing Prozac, I was born.

Of all virtues I maintain, patience is the the most prized. It takes a lot to set me off. And I’m proud of that. That’s how I maintain so many relationships. I have very few enemies (that I am aware of, anyway) and I like to keep it that way.

But recently, I’ve become a bit of a caveman. And it is starting to freak me out a little bit. What used to take weeks to light my fuse now takes about three days. And the fuse doesn’t burn as long anymore.

I can’t explain it. Usually I have pretty darned good explanations for everything I understand. This current malady, I have nothing. Zilch.

All I know is that things that used to only annoy me have started making me mad.

Dime-store shrinks might explain it away as me having internalized too many emotions. They might say if I had allowed myself to get mad a little more over the past ten years that I might be a little more emotionally balanced right now. They might even say that a little well-placed rage is good for the mind.

I tend not to listen to pop psychology, though. And until I come up with a good explanation, don’t be surprised if you hear me screaming like a wookie in heat.