Yesterday, as I was assembling my coffee table, I slipped while I was screwing in one of the legs. Consequently, I cut my finger on the edge of the table. So I did the obvious thing that a person living alone would do. I screamed, "FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU SCREWDRIVER! FUUUUUUCKKKKK!" Then I was embarrassed at how loud I was, and I was briefly terrified that one of my neighbors would call the cops, and then I would have to sheepishly explain that the only domestic violence going on in my house was between me and my screwdriver.
That's when I realized I need to learn to control my anger, even though I live alone. Because one day, that screwdriver will be one of my kids giving me a cut on my finger. And while the screwdriver can take it, I would really rather not scar my kids in a moment of heated, albeit justified, anger.
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1 comment:
but one of my favoritest things about living along is that i can throw temper tantrums that'd make a toddler blush, and no one but me knows what an immature asshole i am ;)
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