All children are expected to have tantrums. For some, there are just a few. For others, every day brings a new reason to throw things, scream, and generally be a pain. It’s annoying, but because they’re ‘just kids’ it’s generally OK.
The adult tantrum (in my experience) is more subtle, but no less irritating. In my case, tantrums irritate me because I know I should know better.
Yesterday I spent almost 12 hours feeling sorry for myself. I left the office early and went home, hoping the dark cloud would lift of its own accord and leave me free to get on with my life. Instead, being alone at home seemed to make matters worse. I couldn’t be bothered to do anything. I was fed up and no idea or suggestion seemed worthy of more than a sigh.
As the afternoon wore on I became annoyed with myself for being grumpy. There was no logical reason for my mood. Nothing had gone seriously wrong. I had plenty of work that I could have been getting on with. I had a good book I could have picked up to read. I even had chocolate!
I ended up resigning myself to a lost day and went to bed early, hoping for brighter feelings in the morning. Thankfully the tantrum lifted and I’m back to my fully functioning, optimistic self now.
Some things don’t change
I don’t understand what caused the bad mood yesterday, or why I couldn’t get out of it for so long. All I know is that I felt like an idiot and I really don’t want to experience another one. In this respect the adult tantrum is exactly like those of childhood.
Just because I learned to stop screaming and throwing stuff doesn’t mean I forgot how to be miserable sometimes.