Either I'm growing less tolerant as I get older, or else I'm just learning more about the limits of what I can tolerate. The latter seems more likely, since I'm encountering new limits in many areas of my life that either hadn't existed before or hadn't been evident until now, in these latter days.
Maybe it's just that as more time goes by, I don't feel that I should be forced to be as patient with things like unwarranted interruptions (such as hang-up phone calls all day long) and inconsiderate drivers (but then, I've always sneered and cursed at people who don't signal when they turn).
Not that there's anything I can do about these things I claim not to tolerate. It's just that I'm more helplessly outraged by carelessness, thoughtlessness and rudeness than I was. I used to sit and take it. Now I scream and yell and throw things. It's a big improvement.
Or maybe, this was just another Monday when not everything went swimmingly. Quite possibly that's the biggest reason I was foraging the bathroom cabinets looking for the family-size bottle of Maalox this afternoon. It has less to do with what I can or can't tolerate (or will or won't) than how much I can stomach. Less and less, apparently.