Anyone who has visited here more than a couple times will note my tendency to get really uncharitable, often totally gratuitously, a few times each month. It's not very nice, I realize. Most of the time I am tempted the next day to go back and delete the post in question, but I have never done this.

Why? In order to leave the really distasteful rant as a testament to my stupidity, lest I start to get an overly favorable self-impression.

Some bloggers have outright closed up shop when they realized it was time to graduate to a better level of posting - and just make all the old stuff disappear.

I didn't do this either, partially for the reason given above, and partially because I guess I'm not ready to graduate quite yet. Some of the worst writing from two years ago is right on a par with stuff from the past two weeks. Guess I'm still the same guy, unfortunately.

I've also never bothered to apologize to anyone unjustifiably attacked, because a true apology would require some level of repentance, as in, intending never to do it again - and that, truly, is something I cannot guarantee. The reason is, when I'm not overcome with rage I can't even imagine the state I was in when it happened. Sitting here now, and looking back, it seems like another person must have been inhabiting my body.

It happens at work sometimes when too many fires erupt: I go in in the morning in a clear, peaceful state of mind, intending to remain productive and pleasant, then the you-know-what hits the fan, and by 6:00 pm I'm ready to either throw a chair through the window or establish immediate diplomatic relations with a big bottle of cabernet. (I've yet to throw a chair).

Part of the reason for creating this site was to provide an outlet more civilized, and easier on my family, than throwing shoes at the television news programs. This part of the plan has largely succeded. The other part was to have an outlet for serious writing and a way to improve my writing, which obviously is still a work-in-progress. Or a pipe dream. Or possibly a psychotic fantasy.

I find the episodes of rage come on almost exclusively when I have become completely immersed in some manner of busyness: getting bounced like a yo-yo between phone calls, meetings and wild goose chases for hours on end; being in a big, stressful hurry for extended periods - like having to get to a bunch of places by specific times; or simply having a big problem or decision weighing on my mind to the extent that it crowds everything else out.

The common thread in all these is the evaporation of the inner self. The part of the mind in which quiet contemplation takes place is completely overwhelmed by a torrential inner monologue: Gotta do this, then gotta do that, then gotta do the other thing, then gotta do another thing, etc. There isn't really any 'me' there anymore, just an automaton following instructions. When I'm in this state for hours, I apparently become susceptible to an emotional hijacking and negative urges take over.

At least that's as much sense as I can make of it. There may be a burn-out factor involved, also. I haven't had a true vacation of more than 3 days for almost 5 years now, mainly for work reasons. (Hey, I may be a total dick and on the road to hell, but I am well-compensated for it! If I live past 65, I will really be sitting pretty...)

I'm not sure why I wrote this post. It is one of the classic types of blog entries that absolutely NO ONE is going to read. I suppose it's because I hate injecting hate into the blogosphere. Maybe in the process of trying to make sense of it here I've touched on something that will make sense to someone else dealing with the same problems. Someone else, that is, among all the people who will never read this post.

Oh well, maybe it will also suffice as a semi-apology, for the public record, repentance not included.