Seasonal seething, a pattern you're finally noticing, but you could see it in hundreds of pages of notebooks scrawled over the decades. In the spring you go beserk. Red storms of rage you can restrain but not ignore. Your limbs shudder with holding it in. You want to explode into a monster, a blur of fists and feet and pain. You yearn to avenge ancient insults. You want to break faces.

What triggers this? What you see of yourself in others?