Failed Again.

I yelled at somebody today. I asked him to do something which I’d twice asked him to do and still he hadn’t complied. I kept myself in check through all his pointless excuses and reasons why he didn’t think it was necessary, but it was necessary and I explained it again several times. The red light was flickering throughout the conversation, and eventually it came on full power. The steam valve opened: For God’s sake just send me the bloody books!

I do this you know. As the steam of frustration rises I manage to keep the lid on the pressure cooker for so long and then it bursts forth. I think it’s a trait I inherited from my mother, which is surprising because very few of my traits came from my mother. But my half brother was the same and he was her other son, so maybe.

I consider it one of my greatest weaknesses and usually suffer a sense of guilt afterwards. I’d rather be the patient, level headed sort who argues quietly and rationally until I’m sure the point is made. But when you’ve got Irish on one side of your ancestry and Welsh on the other, what hope is there?