It's a drabble, yeah. It's also true.

People laugh at me when I tell them I don't lose my temper often. "You're pissed off all the time!" says them. Yeah, but that's not even close.

I don't think I've lost my temper -- really lost it -- in about 10 years. I've been really angry, but not lost it.

And you know the worst part? While I'm in the midst of losing it, of ripping someone to shreds, it feels fucking FABULOUS.

OMG, Erin, a world of WROD. I try to restrain my own temper for this very reason.

yeah...the black-eyed Willow power-trip thing. Have not indulged in recent years, but I used to be good at it.

yeah...the black-eyed Willow power-trip thing. Have not indulged in recent years, but I used to be good at it.

I am erika.

And you know the worst part? While I'm in the midst of losing it, of ripping someone to shreds, it feels fucking FABULOUS.

We actually had this discussion, in the first version of this thread, awhile back.

Last time I allowed myself to physically lose my temper, the woman on the losing end sidled up to me at a gig at which Nicholas Rev.1 was playing, leaned over, and whispered in my ear "I fucked him."

I knew damned well she was full of shit. She had pulled that on every woman of her acquaintance with a musician sweetie. But for some reason, she hit a switch and there was a kind of red mist, and the next thing I was aware of was my sister trying to pull me off the chick, because I'd been pounding her head against the floor.

That was about 32 years ago. These days, when I want to carve someone to pieces, I am purely verbal and my temper stays in check.

It takes a lot to get my gander past "crying frustration" to "homicidal". I tend to cry before losing my temper, for some unknown reason. But, if I am angry and I *don't* cry? Look the fuck out. The Irish takes over and the next thing you know, it's your fault for oppressing the seven counties.

Joe saw it for the first time when I was eight and a half months pregnant and went after our neighbor. He admitted, he was terrified.

I gotta ask, Aimee -- what happened with the neighbor?

Have a seat.

One Friday morning, I was awakend by a horrific car crash near our apartment. It was about 6:30 am. Joe and I ran outside to see what happened (I was in my robe), turns out some jackhole had fallen asleep at the wheel and rammed their late 70's Impala into a two seater Benz. The Benz was about the size of a sugar cube.

Now, while we were standing in our driveway watching in amazement, C, our neighbor two doors down, stomps up to us, and throws a baggie of dog shit at me and starts yelling the let Ollie shit in her lawn and don't pick it up. It escalated to a yelling fight that ended with Joe throwing the dog shit (that was really old and hard - she was trying to pass it off as fresh.) back at her and telling her, "It ain't mine."

On Sunday, I was cleaning the kitchen and Joe comes in from walking Ollie, chuckling to himself. I asked what was funny and he told me that C had been following him with a video camera while he walked the dog.

Something in me just snapped.

I stormed out the door, stalked down the street and just started SCREAMING at her. I told he that we were calling the police, getting a restraining order, and for fuck's sake, it's NOT OUR DOG. And she had better quit taping me without my consent. I still had enough of a thinking mind to remember to stay on the sidewalk, which is public property, and not to go onto her property. Well, as I walked back home, she followed me with the video camera. I turned, saw her, and did the Dennis Leary patened "Fuck You" dance. I turned to walk away again, and she was still following me. I got almost to my driveway and the red mist Deb described hit me.

I turned and went after her. I chased her back home, screaming and swearing at her. I had visions of ripping the camera out of her hands so hard, that the camera strap decapitated her and I could jump up and down on her head. I chased her onto her property, onto her front porch, and then called her a very horrible, very terrible name. By this time, Joe grabbed me from behind because he knew that if she said anything to me, I would have jumped on her and beat her to a pulp.

He got me back home, where I promptly burst into tears.

All was apologized for and we exchnaged food stuffs and everything is ok now, but I hate remembering that day because I hate that I can get that angry and say such things that I would normally kick anyone's ass for saying.

I remember that incident, Aimee. And truth to tell? I also remember being eight months pregnant. The woman was luckier than she deserved not to be road patè. Stupid, stupid behaviour on her part.

When I'm approaching homicidal, my voice goes quiet and I pull out all the big words. I've only physically struck someone three times in my life, and I don't give warning, either to the strikee or to myself, which is what worries me most.