TEMPER. A love story. Daphne Bellflower
TEMPER. A love story.
What I meant to say – as I tried my best to keep my Temper stuffed into the narrow space between my esophagus and stomach lining – was that I would be thrilled to go to Lincoln City, Oregon in the pouring rain to meet with a demanding client.
My lifelong companion Temper – an angry little orange beast with sharp claws and a knack for delivering swift gut kicks – laughed at me from the place it was temporarily stuck. “Did you really mean to say that?! Or did you mean to say go screw yourself!! Ah hahahahahaha”
I sighed, pulled my stiff lips into a smile fake enough to give Jean Enersen a run for her money, and said “Yes. Of course. I’ll pack rubber boots, a rain slicker, and (muttered under my breath) a handful of Xanax.”
A few gut kicks later from Temper, and I was on my way home to pack a suitcase full of clothes suitable for 50 mph wind gusts and horizontal precipitation.
I took a couple of deep cleansing breaths and repeated my mantra until I arrived at my house: “I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.”