The Fights

I was reading blogs at lunchtime and stumbled across Julia {Here Be Hippogriffs}. This entry made me laugh (somewhat ashamed, but laughing all the same) …omigod, there’s someone who actually fights the way that I do. Not that I’d actually admit it or anything, of course. So I asked, tactfully, if there was anything he wanted to talk about in a loving and fully-supported environment. As I recall I said something open-ended like, “What the fuck is your problem?” *snicker* …sad but true.

There is this terrible temper that runs in my family. (See the subtext already? The part where I say that it’s in the genes, i.e., not really my fault?) I’m always totally aware that I’m acting like a complete and utter asshole, but am unable to stop it. The words just keep coming, as I sit there like some bystander listening to it. Worse, I have on occasion acted upon that anger, and so can relate to:

At which point my jaw dropped open because I might have been drunk but he was clearly INSANE. I never did any such thing. The idea! And I got SO ANGRY. SO VERY VERY ANGRY that I wanted to punch him right in his stupid, handsome face. In fact I balled my fist up and began to swing it but he ducked and then headed towards the guest bedroom. Which is when I half-tackled him and tried to bite him on the leg (I am a classy, a very classy, lady.) That is how I got the rug burn on my shoulder blade, in case you were wondering.

It has to be temporary insanity. I’m ashamed to even admit to this. But then again, as a good friend once said his grandmother told him, “I wouldn’t give two shakes for someone that I couldn’t have a good fight with.” Amen.

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