Anger is when the crop you were planning to feed your family with gets bombed by careless U.S. planes

As I sit in my bed to write this blog, I think I am frustrated in just about every sense of the word.

I am not angry.

I am not sad.

But I am dealing with a base level of frustration so constant that it is more-or-less my default emotional state as of late.

I would try to blame it on my circumstances, but the fact that I’m sitting in a warm and comfortable bed with a healthy body and sharp mind, relative personal safety and a still-working car tells me that can’t be it.

I had a long conversation with one of my good friends today about personal habits and their nasty little ways of seeping into your professional life. And professional habits and their nasty little ways of seeping into your personal life.

I was telling my friend that though I am completely aware that there are 24 hours in a day, for some reason my 24 hours seems to pass much quicker than other people’s 24 hours, causing me to be told on a Saturday, “You haven’t spoken to me since Tuesday!” and causing me to react with genuine confusion, because I really and actually just do not have a sense of that much time having elapsed.

Right now, I feel like I am so far behind in all the things I need to do to be a focused and productive person that all it makes me want to do is hide in my apartment and read Southern Vampire Novels from the ebook app on my Droid (fabulous! There are so many free/dirt cheap/free books available! DROID does–but I digress).

I think I could be a hermit.



*pause for incredulous laughter*



Not really.

But I do find myself drawn to the fantasy of just holing up in my place and reading all the books I keep buying but not reading for a week or two. Just starting there. And then maybe I’ll unsubscribe to some of the things that keep my phone buzzing at all times of the day and night and stressing me out because I don’t read them and I have this thing where it sincerely makes my head hurt to have 445 unread inbox messages and 353 unread Facebook messages.

Don’t ask.

I don’t get it and I try to ignore it for the most part, but I can’t. I get a very concrete form of satisfaction from opening my inbox and seeing just, like 1. Three is pushing it.

That’s just the way I am.

I have been told that I am very self-aware, but there are times when I don’t even know that I am not functioning at my highest level until some sort of slip brings it to my attention and I have to examine my external circumstances for clues about my internal state.

Three-hundred-fifty-three unopened Facebook messages is one. And they all come to my damn phone now too. That stresses me out so much. The pile of clothes that just goes from my corner to my bed back to my corner as needed is clue number two. The unwashed cups and the dishes that have been sitting in that drainer thing (whatever that’s called) for weeks (the dishes, not the unwashed cups) are going to be rolled into a combined clue number three.

Something ain’t right.

I told my friend that I know what the problem is and I know I need to fix it, but that I spend so much time and energy during the day keeping my base level of frustration down that at the end of the day I just don’t even want to come clean my house and work on the projects and things that will put me closer to my dreams.

Like failing a class because you don’t like your teacher–I guess you really showed him, huh?

That’s about how much sense me letting the areas of my life that I could actually take refuge in slip because I am so dissatisfied in other areas makes. None. And I am really, ultimately, and most importantly, only hurting myself.

I am thankful for this blog because it is just about the only healthy way I have of processing my emotions, as well as one of the few hobbies I have that does not come with the added stressor of expense.

I thought I could go about my life with one hand holding down the monster of my growing frustration, but ignoring it is causing me to slip in other areas because it drains my energy and takes my focus.

I don’t have a resolution to this post, only a thought: I need to find a better way.


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