I talk too much.

OK, so that’s not necessarily true. I realize I’m known as a fairly quiet person. And for the most part, I am.

But yesterday, I got worked up and upset about something I had to do and I let everyone around me know it. I griped. I complained. I may have stomped my feet a little bit. Basically, I threw the slightly less demonstrative adult version of a three-year-old’s temper tantrum.

And it’s just as unattractive on a 33-year-old woman as it is a toddler. Actually, maybe more so.

I was upset because I’d been asked to take care of something that wasn’t really my responsibility. I’d been given very short notice and didn’t really have time for it. And when I went in to finish the task, I discovered someone had tried to help me . . . but not understanding the project, had actually made more work for me. I got frustrated. I got mad. And I told everyone in no uncertain terms.

And later, I was sorry for it. When you open the day praying that you would please God with every opportunity and then fail spectacularly when an obvious opportunity comes, it’s a tough pill to swallow. So I confessed. And today will likely involve some apologies. And I awoke today to new mercies and a new chance to do what’s right.

So here goes nothing!

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