I knew I was angry, obviously. I was yelling. I struggled to find words fast enough to keep pace with my raging mind. If there had been a mirror in front of me, I would’ve seen the flashes of anger in my eyes and I may well have become frightened by my fury. If only I’d seen a mirror maybe what I’m about to write would be a moot point. But, unfortunately, I didn’t see a mirror, so I kept on getting angrier and angrier; wilder and wilder. I knew I was mad at my friend, one of the dearest I’ve had in my life; I knew I was saying some pretty angry things to him. But it wasn’t until later, after we’d hung up, that I realized I was on the verge of losing my voice. It was hoarse — and coarse — and my throat was sore.
