Age and Rage

I've noticed that it's getting harder for me to get really, truly, bitch-slapping angry anymore. I used to be able to rage with the best of them, to throw tantrums and hissy fits that were proverbial in my family. I maintain that my tempermental behavior was justified about 65% of the time, and still is, but reactions are so muted that it's become a topic of conversation.

The man in my life (hereafter known as Miml) says it's an effect of happiness. Mom says it's maternal hormones. My kids are just glad I don't fly off the handle three times a day and wouldn't care if it were heroin-induced bliss.

I think I'm just too tired to work up the proper amount of steam for a good rage. Which leads, inevitably to age.

I don't think I've mellowed with age, because I still hate most people and I still get irked by their behavior; I just think that the older I get, the more energy is required just to get my ass out of bed in the morning and do what has to be done. There's just not enough left by the time I get everything accomplished to waste on anger and vitriol.

That being said, I still have my moments. Even old, tired women can get worked up now and again. Right now I'm fuming that my son is late for his birthday dinner. I haven't worked up to rage yet, but I can feel quite the storm building.

I'd like to throw a fit when he walks in the door, but I'm tired, so I think I'll just hack into the birthday cake before he gets here.