I get so frustrated at times at my kid's lack of couth. She yells and screams at the most inopportune times, and drives me insane. But in my three decades on this planet, i only just now am learning temperance of my own. So i guess i should let her off the hook, a little.
Just a few moments ago, i, the weary-eyed scribe of broadcast non-fame, finished writing my 30th script of the day. Clinton, Obama, Tibet and taxes flew from my fingers, in a wild and trying torrent. If you work as a writer in a newsroom, you might have some inkling of the strength of this feat. But for those who don't, believe me when i say it is quite a task. I am tired, my eyes are bleary, and my wrists make me feel all of my years (but here i am, tapping away again). But the moment i finished, i get a note from those above me, reminding me of minutiae that i forgot to include in one of said scripts. It took all of the temperance in me not to write an equally snitty note back. A mammoth fit of frustration, tornadoing around me, for about 30 seconds or so... then the thought that fighting for my pride in this case is just not worth it. The response i sent back, a simple "ok". Even two years ago, it would have been that lack of couth i despise in my child, coming out of me too. But temperance taps through my fingers these days. At this point, this fiery Leo will count that as growth.