I have noticed that since I have got
older I have mellowed considerably since my youth. While I still have the bad temper that I had
then, now I only go bat shit crazy after being provoked repeatedly. I am like the guy in the movie“Anger Management”. I warn people not to go
there, and if they choose to go there despite the warnings, well then they do
it at their own risk. I have a zero tolerance
level for stupidity. There are enough
ways in this world to acquire knowledge so generally there is no excuse for
it. Fool me once shame on you, fool me
twice shame on me or so the story goes. By the time I have seen red, it is too late the movie's advice and start singing "I feel pretty!"
Of course, the level of bat shit crazy and
the amount of Whoop Ass that I unleash on the world depends on the level of the
aggravation. As my children happily
remind me, when it is really bad, the explosion that comes forth is not only
instantaneous but fairly violent and scary.
Needless to say no one has to wonder if I am ticked. I am as obvious as a billboard in brilliant
red and neon yellow. On the upside, once
I have blown my top I calm down fairly quickly and life as I know it marches on
in a more peaceful, Zen-like way. I hate drama; therefore I tend to eliminate
those that like to cause it. Those that
cause it are not a part of my life.
As I grow older I have noticed that it
is easier to control my temper when under pressure. Even though it is a very fine line where I tend to become harassed and hyper, I
can hold it together if I need to. If
you see me starting to count it is generally not a good sign. Since crossing over into the “mental-pause”
years I have had my share of Towanda moments.
You know the ones where you go ape-shit with very little provocation and
do things that in your right mind, you would never ever do. Yes, I have been there and done that. There are those moments when remorse
inevitably creeps in and then I find my level of happiness and Zen once
again. Actually some of those moments
are rather comical in hindsight. So
there you have it NaBloPoMo, I have a temper, I am a virtual ticking time bomb
under pressure, and there have been moments when put under pressure I have felt
compelled to do just the opposite of what is asked of me…because that is the way I
roll and it is all good. It keeps life
colorful, and in the end a rousing rendition of "I feel pretty!" can't hurt.
What is the last straw and when does it occur? Is it the moment right before you lose your mind or is it the time that precedes going off the deep end when you are painstakingly going through each straw coming dangerously close to the last one? You know, when your kids are bouncing on your last nerve and you are 1/16 of an inch of wringing their precious little necks. It is the moment when you begin to count at the top of your lungs and the time bomb in your head is ticking…loudly.
Sometimes the last straw comes at that precise moment when everything that can go wrong does go wrong and only praying to G0d above can save you. Usually in his divine wisdom, He chooses to save your butt because if you have ever noticed somehow, someway life goes on regardless. There is always a life lesson attached because it wouldn’t be life if we didn’t live and learn and gain a little wisdom from each trip into the pits of our own personal hell.
Like most people I have seen my last straw. I have been there and done that and have no doubt before I go toe up I will get to that last straw again probably many times over. I will blow a blood vessel, hyperventilate, ultimately calm down, find the way, and life will continue with a new box of straws. Even the most even tempered folks ultimately have to go through a lot of straws. Then you have the more explosive sort who probably knocks off a box of straws a day. Thank heavens for the mellowing effects of aging. If it weren’t for the beauty of aging and the natural progression of learning not to sweat the small stuff, many of us, me included, would have blown our entire life’s supply of straws in our youth. I blew so many straws when I was younger that I have noticed myself using up fewer and fewer as I age. I pick the battles I can win now, and don’t blow my straws on lost causes.
Even though my fuse has lengthened over the years, I have seen a whole box of straws blown in one instance that can be chalked up to the pre-menopause hormones that bring on Towanda moments worthy of scenes from the classic movie “Fried Green Tomatoes” or that classic moment in “The Father of the Bride” when Steve Martin’s character decides he is no longer getting screwed over by the conspiracy between the hot dog and bun companies forcing people to buy more buns than they need. Yes, given the opportunity I am capable of losing it on the gargantuan proportions that can rival both notorious scenes.
Providence knows, with two relatively young children who have yet to reach the dreaded teenage years, I probably haven’t even begun to touch on the stock pile of straws I will go through during that stage of life. I have heard horror stories, and for now I am completely content to deal with the small stuff using up my stock pile of straws slowly, deliberately and with precision until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
