My temper is on edge

It's safe to say that I have a temper. Sometimes it takes a lot for me to get angry and sometimes it doesn't. I'm not quite Hulk-like it my rage, I don't run around smashing things. I tend to be a slow simmer, waiting to boil over at a moments notice.

I say this because I've been on the verge the last few days.

My mother (and let's face it, we should've seen this coming. Rage usually begins with a mother) travels for work and works far too hard. I understand this. I don't like this, I want her to work less because I'm constantly worried she's working herself into an early grave.

Now she's sick. And when she's sick the world comes to a crashing halt and those few people who are still standing are obviously meant to be at her beck and call.

I can't even get into too many details, but the point of this story is she asked if coming home early from her work trip would screw up my day. I made the tragic error of saying "...a little".
The reaction was extraordinary. And not in a good way. The guilt trip from her was a vision, considering she's not even Catholic.

My temper is on edge.


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