“Ira furor brevis est.”

“Anger is a brief madness.”

No, don’t worry, I didn’t get hit on the head by a falling brick and started spitting out Latin over night. No matter how much I wish for that to happen. In fact, I saw that line from “Espresso Tales” by Alexander McCall Smith. And who’s a greater writer than Mr. McCall Smith? (Rhetoric question, no need to answer that, just nod along if you want to be in my good book.) Move over, Mr. O’Henry.

Right. This anger business. Stupid, isn’t it? And mad, too. So, so mad. That measly 3-minute you flew off the handle? The same as you took a cricket bat and whacked that caring, affectionate, taken-years-to-nurture relationship right across the ear and gave it a brain haemorrhage. That’s how mad it is!

But Mr. McCall Smith, a.k.a. THE Philosopher on Life, also wrote,

What was the point, she thought, in being at odds with those whom we should love when our time on this earth was so very short?

And so after you’ve collected all, or most, of the bits that were blasted up by that rage. After you’ve realised that those bits can, in a way, be glued back together, even if it could never be the same again. You stopped being a kid. You grew up and you apologised. First and foremost, for blowing the fuse to smithereens. And as to why the fuse was blown up? That you may need a bit more time to really understand, to really see things from the other’s perspective. For now, you’d just leave it just that. It is water under bridge, and as always, people are different. Live with it.

~“Amor furor brevis est.” Love is a brief madness, too. Although I’m not so sure about the “brief” part.~

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