This is what being a volcano must feel like.

Boiling inside, the magma accumulating, the rage about to come out and destroy everything and everyone in its path.

And I ask myself, why are you so angry, pal?

Yes, you missed your tram today because of a ridiculous house problem your husband has refused to acknowledge as existent.

You called him furious and finally got him to understand that a problem is real regardless of whether or not it is also a problem for him. Because one does not miss a tram, and thus a train, for fun.

Due to all this unnecessary nonsense, you had to take two trains, wait in the cold each time, and be overall bothered.

And you also arrived late to work, where everyone and their cats needed you to do something within the very same hour. “Something” included going out to the cold world, twice.

It’s also true they never stopped asking you to run around doing ten thousand things throughout the morning, and that someone also fucked up a report, and you had to go outside, yet again, to fix their mistake.

And it’s not like you have had a good night’s sleep in over a week. Your books won’t edit and write themselves.

The point is, what does it all matter? I can also just roll with it and do what I must without thinking, refusing to let any of the stress affect me.

I continuously try to, but since I’m always rushing around and never have enough time for what I want to do, it does fucking matter. It does fucking bother me. It does almost makes me fucking scream.

But I didn’t scream just yet. Nevertheless, I’ll have you know I smashed the fucking report twice: against a wall, and against the elevator. Just for fun.