Because Mitch gets to throw toddler fits while I’m not allowed to show emotion at all, I am angry but I think it’s shame. Every morning I feel a little sick when I get on the elevator, as though I ate just a bite of something rotten, so I am angry but I think it’s IBS. I have to put my worst employee in the bottom 10 percent to make the curve, even though she’s still pretty good, so I am angry but I think it’s softness. My best employee is a quivering wreck and my praise goes right through her, her eyes darting in mistrust until I’m half convinced I am lying to her, and I am angry but I think it’s lack of compassion. I’m about to join the demographic known as “over forty,” and I am angry but I think it’s body dysmorphia. All the money is starting to seem normal and not like winning a prize every day, and I am angry but I think it’s ingratitude. John gripes that it’s distracting to have cleaners in the house and I read it as him saying I should be doing the cleaning myself, and my office is noisy and crowded all day long and John works in an empty house for all but the six hours a month our cleaners visit, so I am angry but I think it’s lack of focus. Whole Foods has just four lanes open at rush hour, and the lines back up into the aisles, and I am angry but I think it’s failure to be in the moment. We’re losing the engineers again and I don’t even really know why, and I am angry but I think it’s stupidity. [...]