Frustration. He said those words to me and I learned that apparently 60 hours of work a week when you are being paid for 40 does not actually mean "dedication." Huh, who knew? Apparently I didn't because when he said those words, those "need to make sure you are being a dedicated employee" words I felt that blood boiling, gut-wrenching, teeth-clenching, muscles solid with tension, may just bite through my own tongue, please don't scream right now frustration.
I know that many of those have become trite hyperboles, but I had never taken the time to notice how appropriate they are. I felt the heat rush through my body, felt the tiny ripples of anger reverberate between my twitching muscles and my prickling skin. It was intense to notice the way that my body responded to this anger, a little terrifying, actually. I knew it was impossible but I could feel the long-building pressure and frustration churn within me and for half of a second I feared that in some disturbingly cartoonish way the energy I could feel rush within me would soon be too much and soon the composure that I was struggling to maintain would rip through my exterior, melting and disfiguring my face revealing a screaming distorted Medusa-like monster who would turn him into stone and shatter him to pieces.
Or maybe I could just turn into the Hulk. Green is my favorite color, after all.
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