I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore...

All right. Time for a bit of honesty. At times, I'm not the easiest of people to get along with. I know it. I am not proud of it and I don't wear it like some badge identifying me as tough or cool. But it's part of who I am.

I really get uptight when the world has the audacity to not revolve as I think it should. This has been one of those weeks.

I really am a laid-back fellow. Rarely does a solitary event set me off. But several things, simmering and over time, often combine to create a very volatile cocktail.

It started when the condensate pump that removes water from our air-conditioning system failed, flooding our mini gym and soaking the carpet in the family room. OK - no big deal. Breathe in, breath out and move on.

A few other minor tragedies - like the bowl full of cantaloupe that jumped out of the fridge onto the floor (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) - got the kindling to smolder.

Then the tech guy who installed our Dish Network service, which has been much anticipated by all in the household after a self-imposed exile of several months away from TV, didn't finish the job. He left without making sure all connections worked. He left trash everywhere and a ceiling tile askew. On the deck, scrap cable waited for me to throw it away. Too lazy to use a big ladder, he refused to install the satellite dish where the old one had been. Seems it was more convenient to put it 10 feet away so it faces the exact same direction but looms large over the deck instead of being tucked away from sight over the eave. To top it off, he left several yards of cable from the old system dangling from the house. Seems it was too much work to cut the wire flush with the house, both for this guy and the previous tech, who found a way to remove the old dish and make off with it.

Add in the fact that some people who just feel they can do my job much better than me ended up costing extra time and money, and the fire is going.

Then yesterday I received an unbelievable e-mail from my wife. She is an amazing person. I made her mad once by saying that she could make friends with a telephone pole. It really was a compliment. Unlike me, who has definite boundaries no shall cross, she is wide open. She helps old people through the grocery store parking lot, buys lunch for the police officer in line with her at Wendy's or lifts someone's spirits just by listening. I'm a lucky guy.

Well, yesterday, when she saw a woman struggling with melons while trying to control one of those scooters at the grocery store, she jumped right in to help. Then things went wrong. The women launched into a tirade about how she needs no help and can't understand why people just don't leave her alone. Stunned, my wife gathered our three kids, slipped away and explained that it's better to offend someone who may need help and than refuse to lend a hand to someone who actually does.

I was floored. Yes, the situation and the complete ingratitude of this one woman blew me away. But my wife's calm reaction and explanation to the kids just amazed me. Warren Barfield wrote and incredible song called "Mistaken" that voices his desire to be mistaken for Jesus. When I looked at my wife last night, struggling to finish a long day of homeschooling the kids, getting ready for dinner and preparing for the day to follow (all while suffering from the start of a rude cold that arrived a few months early), I saw Jesus. I'm a lucky man.

This morning, as I was hitting my stride in the daily torture I call a cardio workout, the footbrace on my elliptical decided it was time to pack it in. The metal snapped, causing the pedal to hit the floor. If it weren't for quick reflexes, I would not have been far behind. After a burst of bad words and a failed attempt to heave the machine across the room, something snapped in me. I had powered down everything and angrily resolved to skip the rest of the workout. Then, something made me turn around, restart the music and climb upon the much-loathed treadmill. Bottom line, I finished the workout. The goal was achieved.

The key was I remembered what kind of day my beautiful wife suffered the day before - the stress, indignation and exhaustion on top of being sick. If she could do that, I could finish a simple workout and get past all of the frustrations of what really has been a decent week. Thanks, hon, for the inspiration you provide each day. I'm better for the smile you give.

My typing has been accompanied by some Jimmy Buffett tunes. As I was wrapping up, the lyrics of one of my favorites caught my ear. The song perfectly describes the mess I often am. I am both embarrassed and proud of how it perfectly captures the real me. I bet many of you can relate.

Piece of Work
I'm a piece of work, I'm iron and lace.
I'm shy, right up there in your face.
I'm all dumbfounded, stubborn as an ass,
Sharp as an arrow in a pile of glass.
I'm a sweetheart, genius, restless jerk.
Lord have mercy, I'm a piece of work.

Well, the lord made me on a long thin limb.
Made sure I'd remember him
or her in the middle of a long, dark night -
Creation crazy, death sheet white.
Made in the image of a lion shocked lamb,
I am who the hell I am.
Ever better, bad to worse,
Down to the letter I'm a piece of work,

I’m a piece of work, I'm an angel's fiend
Bathed in lavender and gasoline -
Scared brave, shallow in an ink black well,
Lightly browned in the fires of hell.
Wicked, holy, full on fake,
Best known for my big mistake.
I'm zen-wise, peaceful gone berserk.
God Almighty, I'm a piece of work.

I'm a dreadful sight and I just don't care.
Spent all morning pulling out my hair.
I woke at dawn with a crazy spin -
Half the day trying to glue it back in.
Mother, bloody, Mary, please
Wipe that smile right off your knees.
I'm the CEO of the mailroom clerks.
Lord have mercy, what a piece of work.

I'm a piece of work, I'm a lovesick boy -
Cloth cap, caviar and corduroy.
All over the map, just a-lost in space
With a filthy mind and a choirboy's face.
Heels up, head down, straight on through,
Watch out, woman I'm coming for you.
I'm a gladiator with a mind to irk.
Good God A'mighty I'm a piece of work.

Can I get an amen?

I know what I'm doing tonight...

...and it's not what you're thinking, at least not early on.

From the ripe old age of 10, I have suffered from a serious affliction - drumming. I remember a kid not much older than I coming to school and playing drums in some sort of band concert. I thought, if he could do it, I could do it better. That's become an informal theme for my life. Just ask my wife.

Anyway...I got my first kit - made up of beautiful translucent-blue plastic shells - and I was hooked. Who knew hitting something could be musical?

Over the last three decades, drumming has provided an outlet for creativity - which I've never had much of - and energy - which I have too much of. Just ask my wife. It also has led to several long-enduring friendships and kept me out of a lot of trouble. I've learned the addiction is congenial. My oldest son is quite the timekeeper. I can't wait to see him mature as a player.

For several years, I have not given as much time to playing as I should. There's work, kids and a few hundred other things that have taken precedence. Tonight, my sweet wife will take my beautiful daughter for her weekly dance lesson. While they're knee deep in Swan Lake or some modern jazz routine, I plan to put on Rush's Moving Pictures album and play through the last notes or until my arms give out.

My bet is on the latter happening first. Either way, I'm sure it will be a blast.