Am I Angry?

It's a commonly recognized fact amongst my loved ones and a smattering of therapists in Memphis and Greater Boston that Able is incapable of expressing anger. I can get tragic with the best of them. And once, I keyed a someone's Beemer (with a little help from Pillow and Veuve-Cliquot). But neither weeping a lot, nor attacking a vehicle serepticiously are actual straight-forward, healthy ways of expressing one's darker emoticons (>:-< . . . ?). Clearly I'm not above it; rather, I'm downright jealous of those not imbued with my bizarro, antiquated fear of being unladylike and displacing matter and energy (or something). Today, a little punchy as the work day wears on, I find a few things have gotten me going: 

1. This monstrous baby-child working next to me keeps excusing herself from the desk to go to the bathroom and DOUSE herself in body spray. I may be sick all over this joint before long.

 and 

2. I overheard that this fellow I have a crush on (also in la officina), a well mannered, prepston good ole' of the variety I rarely see since my Northern transplantation, is engaged to be married to some trick who is taking him skiing for Christmas, or she was, but then he had foot surgery and now he's on crutches and he can't ski and did I mention that crutches really do something for me in this WWII nurse and soldier kind of way?! I mean, no bigs, it's just a crush. I wouldn't mind if he was married, but there's something about engagements that makes me boil. They're so sober, earnest, ringy . . . glitter, purple . . .? 

If I told this child that her body spray is gross, I would sound really classist, and if I got visibly upset about a stranger's whole perogative to get married to a person that he actually knows I would be a lunatic. Here's to not doing a thing about it . . . better luck in 2009?