We swell, our emotions get huge and bloated, and the house swells with us: my brother is mad at me for being condescending, I’m mad at my dad for being unhelpful, he’s mad at my mother for being cold, and she’s mad at my brother for being inconsiderate. Our words take up more space than they should, and we drown each other in volume. It’s fun! Or, it’s not any less fun than the hobbies people picked up during the quarantine. Screaming at your family is a more transferable skill than baking garden focaccias.
