Being Angry

I was up late last night and was watching TV in a rather disinterested way.  Then I came upon a Discovery Channel documentary on climbing Everest.  It was part of a second series, the first having covered a group of climbers the previous year.  There were several men who had climbed both years, and one of them was pretty spectacularly unintelligent.  In the previous series he'd gotten a lot of 'screen time' both because he'd been slightly injured, and so there was the drama of whether or not he could make the next stage, the summit, etc, and also because he tended to ignore the climb leader's instructions, putting both himself and others at severe risk.  So here he was again - and here was the same pig-headed behavior.  It was easy to be angry at his disregard for everyone's safety.  And I kept watching - held, I began to see, by the pleasure of my anger.  I really wanted to see him get what he deserved.  What reservoir of ill-feeling do I have stored up that pushes in this way for release?  A sort of emotional fossil-fuel that is available to power all sorts of self-righteousness.