Into the Mysterious Dark

I spent most of yesterday afternoon seething in anger, pounding my steering wheel in rage and biting my lip until my whole mouth ached. Why I was angry doesn't matter. Once I calmed down enough to think clearly, I reminded myself that it didn't matter why. I was angry, and that that was okay, and that as long as I didn't decide to plow into the wrong direction of traffic because of my anger, there was nothing wrong with letting that fire pound through me in my emotion.  It's sad how often I have to remind myself that anger, in and of itself, isn't a sin.  It's also sad how often I have to remind myself that this isn't my fault, my aversion to the natural inclination of anger.  I can hear your inner questions now, dying with curiosity to know why I was angry. Is that just because I'm female? I know that sounds trite, but really think about it. If I were a man writing this, and I wrote about the subject of anger, how would you react to his