Advanced Essay 1: Anger


My goals for this paper are to relate my feelings of anger and my experiences with myself to the audience, and inform them. I’m proud of some of the parts where I feel like I relate my ideas well, and also some of my descriptive scenes from memory aren’t too bad, I think. Apparently my transitions aren’t very good even though they’re fine and if they should be better than you have to tell me what’s wrong with them (a wonderful example of passive aggressive anger), so my transitions could be improved and my ideas and analysis could be better and I’m sure everything could be improved.


Things make me angry. Lots of things make me angry. Everything makes me angry, and anything can make me angry with the right circumstances. I am an angry person, but you might not be able to make the case that I have anger issues as I have developed an amount of self-control in the last few years. It’s not difficult to make me angry, but one of the things that makes me angrier quicker than anything else is time. More specifically my time being wasted.

Unfortunately for me and the people who have to interact with me on a regular basis, this happens more often than I’m comfortable with. Many of these instances involve my family members, as my mom seems to love wasting my time slightly more than she loves my sister. It doesn’t matter the activity, she’ll find a way to waste time. Going over to my grandparents? Let’s stay over there until 9 o’clock on a Tuesday. Running into the grocery store to buy milk? Apparently we have a lot of things to buy. Even something as mundane as driving home is subject to this uncanny ability. My mother and I were driving home when she decided it was time to stop to stop for some art.

“No.” I pleaded. I don’t plead often. This had been an unexpected stop, hence my pleading. We stood in the tent, plastic on four sides which did nothing but enhance the oppressive heat. We were encircled by art, or “art” as many would consider it. I am one of those. The abstract paintings surrounded us. And my mother just happened to pick out the worst possible one.

Now while these detours frustrate me, there is another type of time-commandeering that infuriates me. I only have two days in the weekend, and a lot of work to do in that time. I like to spread it out, pace myself properly. This puts me on a very tight schedule. I have “x” amount of time to do work, “y” amount of work to be done, and “z” amount of downtime. Yet, nearly without fail, I am interrupted. I can understand when there are things scheduled for the weekend, things to do, errand to run, and I am fine with doing them. As long as I know ahead of time. And sometimes, I am not so forewarned. And during a particularly busy Saturday, I can get angry.

On this particular wasted Saturday, I stormed into my room and slammed the door. It doesn’t take much to slam my door, but I gave it the extra push just to prove my point. I glanced at my phone, the time reading 5:02. God. Damnit. I did my best to control my anger. This limited the outlet of my rage to the nearest throwable object, which just happened to be a pen. I took a few breaths in which I thought about my situation again, and promptly threw the pen at the wall. I let out a sigh, almost a groan but not quite, and slumped into my chair, which had begun to crack quite badly in places. I checked my phone again, 5:03. I had to leave in a few minutes. I stood back up with a groan that was almost a sigh and angrily picked up the pen as angrily as you can do that. I looked around the room again, then exited, not quite slamming the door this time.

This isn’t holding anything against my mom, merely accentuating how much I value my time, and providing a reason for why. She has taught me to cherish it, for it may change owners at any moment. As I said, when things are scheduled everything is fine. I am willing to sacrifice time with very little complaint if I am given the proper notice. But if not, then the examples above show the reasons for my anger.

My anger, as annoying as it is, is an integral part of who I am, it’s part of my identity. I somewhat enjoy being angry, as counterintuitive as that may seem. As my classmates and friends can attest to, I am the short kid who get’s angry at everything, give or take a few adjectives. And I embrace this openly. I’ve had a degree of anger problems for a long time. I can remember getting mad at the tiniest little things in first grade. But as I grew older, I learned to control it better (not perfectly, but better), harness it even, in a similar fashion to the “If you embrace your faults then no one can use them against you” quote. I’ve even said I’m at my best when I’m angry. So, all in all, it’s almost a good thing that I’m always angry.