Who really likes getting angry?
It’s an ugly thing, all shaky and horrible with shouting and rude words and threats of violence. No one likes to be on the receiving end of it and no one really likes getting all worked up over something enough to draw blood.
It’s an out of control sin.
You can’t really wallow in it, like lust or gluttony.
It doesn’t get you anywhere like greed might.
It’s not even potentially relaxing like sloth.
There’s nothing but a rush of adrenaline and a whole lot of mess. And, at its core, it infers that something horrible has gone on beforehand to stir it all up.
Something horrendous.
Something so unspeakable that one is forced to administer punishment.
Like the time the courier hemmed me into a parking spot, forcing me to smear sushi all over his windscreen.
