Red hot anger rarely boils up in me and even when it does it is always short-lived, usually unexpressed. I am learning not to burden my husband's tenuous grasp of life's complexities with my pent up emotions, especially wrath. It serves no useful purpose. Most of the time I can explain it all away by consulting the calendar and realizing it is that proverbial "time of the month" when most women feel like eating their young and sacrificing their husbands.
I find it odd how my ire can always be triggered by some perceived injustice that happens to surface right at that most vulnerable time of the month. Is it that I just overlook these things the rest of the time, taking it all in my stride, blind to injustices and inequalities, or is it my hormone-addled brain overreacting to the normal day-to-day frustrations?
Tonight the trigger was my still unwell, anxious mother-in-law who was worried that her holidaying son and his wife were not yet home from their two week jaunt overseas. I had to be the reassuring, calming voice, as always. It was her second call, to announce happily that they were safely home, that blew my gasket. After the call, I lay on the couch simmering from the frustration of always being the reliable one who never leaves her post. Michael was completely unaware of my turmoil, I hope, as was his mother. He wandered around in his back-to-front shorts muttering something I couldn't understand, then rifling through my phone book for mysterious phone numbers. I tried my best to ignore him until burnt toast and spilled juice jolted me off the couch and into action. A slammed plate and glass on the counter did nothing to alert him to my anger which I realized was aimed at myself for always being reliable, cheerful and probably very dull.
I'm over it now. As always, it was a quick snit with no one the wiser. I can't help myself; I'll continue to be that boringly dependable one who dreams of vacations but never takes them because there will always be someone who needs care. On the whole, I'm a pretty contented soul despite the holiday deficit and the occasional fit of pique. And so far my offspring remain unconsumed and my husband walks this earth in blissful ignorance of his wife's occasionally murderous sentiments.