The woman didn’t show last week. She didn’t show this week either. For extra bonus points, the staff person was also absent, and her phone is on voice message. Do I feel like the extra luggage you lose on the way, and never miss? Absolutely.
But what’s the use of anger if nothing ever comes of it? I’ll get apologies at some point, perhaps. The staff person’s problems will turn out to be so huge, so massive I’ll feel like a lowly life form for expressing – nay, for experiencing – discontent.
I got to sit in an empty office and spew on paper, but so what. There’s nothing like silence to turn angry ones into guilty fools. Disturbing the peace. Disturbing the Official Story. The Official Story is a seamless garment. Anger is a sign of weakness.
Anger is a sign of weakness… but pounding countries, men, women, children, dogs, fleas and flowers flat is a sign of strength. Go figure.
Yes, this is a foolish post. Easier on an aging body than throwing a tantrum on a terrazzo floor – getting down is a bitch. Getting up again: an enterprise.
(Does the snarled and frazzled feeling extend to the draft? Yes. How could it not?)