Thursday, March 25, 2004


I'm in a bad mood. In fact, I'd have to describe my current attitude as foul. At this very moment, my keyboard is taking quite a beating, I can assure you. I can feel the pulsing in my neck, my brow is furrowed, and my teeth are clenched. My brain is scrambling around in tight little frustrated circles...

This is me when I'm pissed off.

The worst thing about feeling this way has to be the underlying helplessness of the moment. I can analyze how I'm feeling, I can understand how I'm feeling, I can even paint a vivid little picture of how I'm feeling... But I can't stop it. I can't break out of this funk, no matter how hard I try. What's up with that, anyway?!? Am I not master of my own mind? Should I not be able to flip my mental middle finger at that which annoys me and be done with it?

Apparently not.

So, I play a little Unreal Tournament to ease the tension and take my mind off things... You'd think that spraying rocket fire around like Silly String to the chants of "Double Kill!" and "Multi Kill!" would take the edge off. But, it turns out that virtual violent bloodshed in outer space isn't an effective method of anger management. All I've done is add a less-than-healthy dose of adrenaline to the mix. Looks like my imaginary shrink was right again...

Then I try to write a blog, but everything comes out sounding bitchy (What's that? You hadn't noticed?). Four times I log into Blogger, get two sentences in, and close the window. Four more times I relaunch Explorer, only to glare at Google, becoming more and more irked by that stupid "I'm Feeling Lucky" button... Twice I get up from my computer, then sit right back down again. More teeth clenching, more brow furrowing... I'm a prisoner and my anger is my prison cell.

It's 11 o'clock at night and I should go to bed. Of course, if I do, I'll just lay there staring at the ceiling until the streetlights make taunting little faces out of the stipple. Then I'll grab a book, read three pages, realize I can't remember a single thing from the last three pages, and put it down again.

Toss, turn, re-adjust pillow...

Before long I'd be right back here at the computer, suffering my tension by its eerie glow. So, I might as well skip a few steps and just stay here until this passes, right? I better go put on some coffee... But before I do, I guess I should end the suspense. You want to know what's got me so riled up? Would you like me to tell you what's got my knickers in a knot? My computer... of course.

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