“Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one” – Benjamin Franklin

“Anger is like a boomerang. It always comes back at you” – Imisi

A long while back, I was feeling unwell for longer than I would have loved to routinely attribute to stress. I decided to have a check-up (that was before all the cute nurses got transferred). It would go on to be diagnosed as “NOTHING”.

In the build-up to the blood-collection stage I had to sit in the waiting lounge till my butt literally fell asleep on the poorly constructed seats. Some old nurse kept trying to trace my lineage back to a certain preacher in her off-the-map hometown; while complaining about my English. Needless to say I was reaching cruise altitude for being pissed. “Hang in there big man, you won’t be here on the morrow” was all the voice in my head could come up with in its role as “the pacifier”.  As it approached my turn, another nurse gave me the pee-bottle. She didn’t have to explain – It wasn’t the most complicated medical “invention” of all time. Ok! I’m back! Tragic and more infuriating news: Old nurse had gone on a short break and “see we soo be bak. Bor you can drop your shampoo (it’s pronounced “sample“, ma)”. BLOODY HELL! At that rate, the only thing that could stop me connecting a right Ali-hook with her dentition was the perforated glass through which she stared (you know I‘d never hit a {cute} woman).

The old nurse took nothing less than 30 minutes (so, I’m wondering how long a “long break” would be). By the time she returned, someone had “misappropriated” my “clear-as-eva” pee. Yea! I had to do it again. The usually painful jab went almost unnoticed – I mean, what’s that kind of “pain” compared to what I had already been through?

Doctors do not usually show you your test results (it’s not like you can read the chronic writing anyways!) but her first remark on seeing my “rap-sheet” divulged a vital clue of what she was looking at. Again, I didn’t see jack but I can swear it was something like this:

Plasmodium: -ve

HIV: -ve

Typhoid: -ve

Schizostomia: -ve

Anger: ++++++ve

She simply said: “They must have really annoyed you”.

As I made my way back home, I decided to generally appear (and sound) more menacing. 4-point agenda: Hang-up and “interact amiably” with my punching bag (to rough-up my knuckles a bit), burp loudly after every meal (to “shatter” my voice – cracked was no longer sufficient), get some gym work under my belt {not literally} (to get some inches on the chest) and invent a new “ex-marine-now-kick-boxing-champ” walk (you should know what this was designed to achieve).

In spite of succeeding with a lot of those schemes, I learnt over the years that followed that some individuals were just talented at finding the precious cave where you store all your nerves. Okay! Busted! I want my lawyer! But no, they are never satisfied till they lay your nerves flat and moon-walk over them. If it’s not the old nurse, it’ll be that arrogant bank teller or the severely under-aged yet purely mannerless bus-conductor or that aggressive customer who always talks to you like he’s your boss. It might even be the common (but loathed) too-much-month-at-the-end-of-the-money discovery. The list is endless. Sometimes, even typically reserved parents would support pulling out those tapered “Aladdin-shoes” and shoving them up certain butts.

So, does a line really exist between losing your temper and losing your head? If it does, it’s probably thinner than that divisor-membrane in the walnut; most times, we inadvertently chew through it. The truth is: losing one’s head is seldom without regrets. I’ve been in serious word-fights where I still remembered to turn round and wink at my peeps. I’ve been in others fights where I was left with a broken nose, sometimes, swollen knuckles and most recently (though also very long ago), I had to be carried from the “action” (it took 3 goons) with my belt (was pretty weightless back then) for peace to reign. The post-action feelings differ greatly.

A temper is a powerful gift as I‘ve come to find out; you can’t lead a mob without it. Yet, power is nothing without control. It’s like a container, and, as with typical containers, sizes vary. If your temper-pot boils over, you will definitely lose your rag – that’s something no one really likes. Installing a temper-meter helps. You’ll be able to drain-out before you cross the safety-line by letting fly at “trivial” things. Could be a punching bag (I like this one) or a bottle of your favourite drink, anything but things that really matter to you. Just make sure those feeling don’t accumulate. With time, you’d be able to pretend to be angry without really being. The results of this particular technique will blow your mind if you’re like me with many tiny cousins around the house.

Talk of the devil! One is currently chewing on my ear-piece. Gimme a moment…..