Anger Mismanagement

So, I've realized something.

I am an angry person.

Okay, not like 
angry.

Well, en espanol, we were talking about the idiom: "With the patience of Job." And mi maestro asked, "Senorita Shirley, you look like someone with the patience of Job."
and I realized, actually, oh hell no.


And I told him so. (Okay, minus the hellfire.)

I am actually incredibly impatient.

That brings me back to the last day of eighth grade, when this dude named Jonathan caught me in the halls out of nowhere and said, "Shirley! You're fat!"
To which I responded, confused, "What?"
His response has stayed with me since: "I was kidding; I wanted to see you get mad. You never get mad."

Now, first of all, I hadn't even known he noticed me at all. And second, really? I've known for quite a while that I have a terrible, terrible temper.

I get irritated by small things. And when things don't go my way, man, that is a real pain in the ass.
I can bitch, brilliantly. Really, every unfortunate friend left awkwardly watching me chastise my parents has been both amused and terrified at the speed at which I can complain. Not that I should be proud of it, but I think it takes real talent to be a good bitcher.

I also love having arguments over the internet (not the internet as a subject matter, but, like, with the internet as a medium.) Yeah, I know, it's like competing in the retard Olympics. Then baby, I am Michael Phelps. (Not that I have anything against mentally challenged people. I just have a slight tendency to spew crap without considering every pretentious supercilious toe I may step on.)

Anyway.

With strangers and people from school/work, I am surprisingly patient. Compliant, even. I've let quite a few things slide from certain douche-bags from journ whom I shall not name.
And the thing is, I could care less. It doesn't make me feel wronged to take the high road or just let it roll off my back. But then again, I do tend to get very irritated at laughter that sounds like hyenas. Like, seriously, I know that being a teenager immediately guarantees almost everything wrong with a person. But can't you at least laugh like a normal human being? Instead of:
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHAH!
Jesus fucking Christ, take a chill pill.

That, and with smokers, my parents, and inconsiderate neighbors, somehow my patience has a very, very, very low limit.
I wonder how I'd fare with boyfriends.

I suppose it's a good thing that any one who knows me in a public setting has a relatively decent image of me. My old pre-Calc. teacher told me that he was surprised I was not a photogenic/social person. I took that as a compliment. (My rule of thumb: when considering whether or not to punch somebody in the face for an ambiguous comment, do both of you as a favor and take it as a compliment.)
I suppose I do have the "good little Asian girl" look. Hm... I wonder if I look mundane or appear to be a boring person. Because, y'know, that'd really suck.

But it makes me wonder, what if every amiable person in school has a secret side? What if, even though they never anger or falter in school, they're actually ticking time bombs?

What is that mysterious ticking noise?


(Wow, I'm just going on all sorts of tangents, ain't I? Well y'all's gotta bear with me. I's been graphin' too many derivatives in good ol' Cowculus.)

Well, perhaps this is grounds for therapy. Or I can just call it personality and leave it alone.

Besides, my anger comes in waves. Explosion. Calm. Explosion. Calm. It's quite interesting, actually, to inspect myself. I believe it's called introspection. I suppose I should be thankful that I have such an interesting personality to keep me entertained.
In the great words of Oscar Wilde (who, in today's society, would probably be one of those socially challenged kids with roll-y backpacks): "I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read on the train."


Liztomania - Phoenix