On the surface, Monday was perfect – sunny, but not too hot. An ordinary workday. And yet, I felt…mysteriously enraged. All day long, this intense, seemingly sourceless rage simmered as I tried to focus on the work at hand. It wasn’t until late afternoon. that I realized my shirt was closing in on my ribcage like a medieval abattoir, but the pain was not intense enough to notice on a conscious level. I spent the day squelching the urge to hurl grenades out my window into Copley Square, but I had no idea what was happening.