Some people have an amazing ability to quietly sit while the idiosyncracies of other’s behaviour jumps up and down on their last nerve. They can answer the same question repeatedly without steam emerging from their ears. They smile, nod and appear to care when a small child rambles on about the events of their day. They pick-up after babies and coo gently in their ears.

I am not one of those people.

The smallest things have been known to annoy me and set me off on monumental bouts of ranting and raving like a crazy lady. I’m amazed steam doesn’t flow freely from my ears on a near daily basis.

In fact, my monumental lack of patience is one of the main reasons I decided I never wanted to be a teacher when I was at university. As a child, I dreamed of being a teacher; molding young minds, developing the leaders of tomorrow, making a difference and all that good stuff. Within a few short weeks I’d discovered that not only had I wanted to be a teacher – I wanted to be a good one. I just didn’t have the patience to hold someone’s hand through each step. It annoyed me if someone couldn’t pick up something I was showing them as quickly as I did. It drove me nuts when others didn’t make the same leaps of logic (or whatever my odd mental ramblings can be called) and arrive on the other side of the equation with me.

Occassionally I’m jealous of those who have this infinite well of patience from which to draw upon. Then, I wake up and realize that attempting to change who I am to please others always gets me in a tonne of trouble and misery. If my hubby can manage to put up with me, everyone else will just need to learn to love me as I am too.

My mother is under the delusion that I’ll learn patience by living at home and caring for dad. Boy, is she in for a surprise…

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