It is no great secret that I have a temper. As long ago as the days of diapers I have found ways to communicate my irritation, grumpiness and anger. As a toddler tantrums can be cute and are certainly expected. Childhood and adolescence are partially devoted to emotional outbursts. Young and early adulthood are likewise, no strangers to tantrums and one might even say a 15-22 year-old without them is suspect. Adult visits to tantrum-ville, however, are not as expected, welcome or tolerated.
Pop culture would have us believe that the passionate and fiery woman is very much desired and though a little crazy, perhaps, admired for her wanton display of emotion. Real life is a lot less glamorous. They never show who has to clean up all the broken dishes after the hot-tempered vixen smashes them in her fit of impassioned rage. I learned not to break things at a young age for that very reason. In fact, I have lost a lot of my zeal for angry outbursts as I’ve grown older, but my short fuse remains.
Screaming matches do not work, but I am a skilled debater and will use my sarcastic wit and mean streak to tear an outwitting and outwitted opponent to shreds. Jeff and I rarely fight in your typical argument style, but we do get frustrated with one another, though I am three to four times as likely to lose my patience than he. How do we as adults leave our tempers behind with ill-advised clothing fads and learn to permanently act . . . well, like an adult?
As someone with an admittedly small amount of patience I am often annoyed by the perceived stupidity, inconsideration or social intolerance of others. The factual nature of their transgressions do not matter, whether they are actually in the wrong or not, the issue is my inability to squash my need to let loose with the sarcasm, tell them off or pick a fight (verbal, not physical). I enjoy a good mental joust now and again, but others seem to prefer peace so my naturally hot temperament is left in the cold. I don’t want to be mean, just exercise my “you’re a bloody moron” speech to keep me from getting soft.
There are some days that I miss living in New York City more than others and never more so than when I feel bitchy. People have it wrong about NYers. They are incredibly friendly and will stop to tell you the time, point you to the subway or even instruct you on favorite dinner spots. What they will not do, is to hold a grudge if you’re pissed off and need to express it. In the city it’s okay to lower your shoulder when pushing through a crowd, to flip the bird or to verbally express that same sentiment. In the city you are expected to be moody and verbal because we all know the weak do not survive there. Those that choose to tough it out are rewarded with nonchalance or equally aggressive moodiness when their own need to lash out should surface. No one can give or take a good “fuck off” like a NYer. My temper misses you, my beloved adopted home.
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