I have problems with anger. Not acting on it, no violence, but it's still there, simmering away in a stew of ressentiment. Now, another qualification, I've come a long ways in the last year. But it still comes out when I hear another student griping about how tough their life is, sometimes with good reason and sometimes not, and I realize that I'm thinking "But I've got it worse" or something similar. Which if you think about it, is really holding a grudge that I don't hold a grudge, which is kind of sick.

There were hints of this in childhood. Mom loves telling stories of how I'd push boys off the play sets if they gave me crap. I was a kid feminists would point to and label the future. I was a 2 yr old in bows and lace that could kick 4 yr old boys on their asses. I didn't need a man, or anyone else for that matter.

So, there were signs that I wasn't your average wilting flower, and I'm glad I still have some of that inner strength today. But I'm afraid that interior steel has been warped and twisted into one of those metal sculptures in front of an art museum that scare young children. I recognize that, and I am very glad that I recognize that, but it's still there. That thorn in my flesh is something that I will probably have to struggle with for years to come. Life has shaped me a certain way, and there's no point in bearing a chip on my shoulder because of it.