Sunday, October 21, 2007
frustration, fury, fist
The door is solid.
A futile demonstration of fury or frustration or both
and 50 more things to get upset about including my inability to effortlessly
float through life on a vapor cloud of charm and ease.
I don't break plates.
Greek do when they are happy.
I only throw soft things around me. Don't want people to get hurt.
But I hurt myself without hesitation.
Like trying to drive a fist through a solid hard wood door.
Or kicking my foot so hard into a door post that I ended up with a cast, and crutches.
I've gone through different periods.
Already as young i did. I had periods when I was nice and reasonable.
It was a choice. i like it nice.
The world isn't quite like that. Turn the other cheek and you get smacked again.
My nice periods where among my toughest.
People take advantage of nice people.
Or try to.
At least of me when I'm nice.
When I decided to be unreasonable, people backed of, gave in, gave to me what I wanted, listened to me, followed me.
And paid respect.
I have changed personalities a couple or so times in my life.
But every time I've been the nice guy I've failed. Not to be the nice guy, but to get anywhere. I've felt miserable because people see nice as harmless.
You get run over. Pushed aside. Lose.
Meek is weak.
Right now I'm furious. Out of frustration.
I'm doing my job to the best of my knowledge.
I may even go as far as to claim I think the work I do is pretty professional and quite good.
It will work.
I've practised for almost 30 years. Learnt from the best. Taught others.
Never before have I got so little respect for the stuff I know.
Now I'm up against some huge force called the smallest common denominator.
It's been like that since I got here.
Of course, I've been tangled up in that net many times before. It happens in our job.
But never before have I encountered a smallest common denominator as puny as this time around.
I like this place. I like the people here.
I hate my job here.
I hate my life here.
I'm starting to walk out of meetings. Smacking my real fists into real thick doors.
My hands hurt.
Banging my head against thick walls.
Or against thick heads perhaps.
My head hurts.
Am I going mad? Or just mad at the way things are?
One thing is for sure. My skin doesn't get any thicker.
Maybe it's about time I start to become really unreasonable again?