It's true. I have tantrums. I'm a very frustrated guy. Mommy didn't love me, no-one appreciates me, my house is falling apart and I'm the living antithesis of a handyman - or is that the living embodiment of an unhandyman? - I'm cruel to small animals, I smell funny, etc.
The backstory to this self-excoriation: at practice tonight, during a run-through of a song that has a tricky mid-section, I had a moment of complete fed-uppedness with the state of the the arrangement, tried to stammer a suggestion, tripped over my tongue, and instead shouted "Fuck!" - punctuating it with a slammed dischord on the Rhodes. Feeling bad but still deeply annoyed, I excused myself in a controlled huff and stalked off to the other end of Karl's very long loft apartment. In that regard, it's a great place to storm off in a mood, because you dwindle dramatically in the eyes of the viewer before you reach the other end.
In this case, the other end was Karl's kitchen, and I poured myself a glass of some non-descript white wine, and stalked back, knowing that everyone else was too mellow to give me a deserved hard time about my lousy behavior.
What can I say, the wine helped. At least the music sounded better to me.