It comes up, every now and then, that I give off the impression of being infinity patient and long fused. I don’t know where that image comes from. Perhaps, it’s my conscious attempt to keep the fiery tempered me concealed. I once was so infuriated I threw a stack of bowls only for the satisfaction of seeing them smash into a million pieces. Being tempered glass the pieces were near a million.
This isn’t to say I love raving and shouting, I don’t, I hate it. I always feel so pulled apart afterward, ashamed, I couldn’t keep it together. My mother used to shout, so often going off on crazy tangents, that we just stopped listening. I don’t want to be the crazy yeller.
Today I hit my limit. I called Kyle at work and shouted until I had made my point 4 or 5 times over. The kids kept to themselves playing in the other room. Even at this age there’s a sense of “Don’t go in there Mom’s hit the crazy button”. Finally Kyle and I come to some sort of agreement, or a least a recognition of my frustration. I win the argument. I should feel better, and I do. But I lose, because my kids have seen an example I would rather not set. Oh, and can I see the same temper in Petra, whew.
I wish I could tame the fire that blazes within me, and licks at my throat until, hot angry words escape wildly scalding the one who must hear them.