I have a temper. I hate that I do, but there you go. Most often it is controlled and comes off as annoyance or shortness. But then there are the huffy, irrational, screaming fits. I would like to blame the Italian in me, but I never saw Nuni angry. Or the Irish in me, though I don't remember Poppi ever throwing a tantrum either. In true U.S. fashion, I'd like to blame anything other than myself for this issue whether or not there is just cause.
My temper rears its ugly head mostly when I am alone and can scream and cry without repercussions. Few people have been on the other side of the true wrath of my temper. My parents (mom especially) or sister particularly during the snotty narcissism of adolescence, and on occasions, naughty middle schoolers in the middle of a long school year. The temper is usually aimed at myself or inanimate objects that fall, break, or are generally uncooperative. The fuse is usually shortest in times of stress. Which unfortunately is most of the time lately and is really bad right now.
Yesterday, the temper flared a couple times. When I took not one, two, or three but FOUR wrong turns on the way home from a school I have visited a dozen times, making a two hour trip closer to three. And again when my DVR stopped working and didn't record Lost. But the last straw was when my couch collapsed while I had friends over for a pleasant evening of Don Draper, wine, and dinner. How embarrassing is that? Boom! The couch falls apart. Oh, I waited until everyone left before I let the DVR and couch have it. And man, was that couch sorry.
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