Monday, October 24, 2011

Journal 80 Just whining

I hate the term 'pet peeve' but I have thousands. Some relate to everyday life and life with all the other people on this crowded planet, and some are work-related. Some are just things that are errors in judgement that drive me up the wall (yes, judgement has TWO spellings, as Mike once pointed out to me. This in itself is kind of annoying. Why can't it just be spelled ONE way--like, with that e after the g or without? Hmm).
Years ago I worked with a coworker who habitually listened to her voice mails on speaker.
So, with the wall between us, I could hear the garbled messages, reminding me of my morning clock radio alarm. It was so maddening. Today, I silently seethe as another one shuffles stacks of paper, about 4 inches thick, into manageable piles. The sound sets my teeth on edge. I can't explain it. It drives me mad.
Arriving at a restaurant, any restaurant, to a shrieking child/baby, is another one. I know people love their kids. And let me also add when my own niece and nephew do this I am mortified and often say to them so the other tables can hear "See those people? They are trying to enjoy a nice afternoon/evening meal" (whatever time of the day it might be). So the people at least know that yes, I feel your pain, and no, I don't deny your feelings of frustration. But what I've noticed in these situations, that some parents seem to like and relish the attention. As my temperature rises and Mike mutters under his breath, we noted that one set of parents, whose wild eight-year-old was careening around the quiet Thai restaurant where we were trying to have a peaceful lunch, seemed to stretch out their time, which included their hapless offspring flinging a glass of water all over his table and almost falling off of a barstool, to last the entire time we were there eating, as if enjoying our semi-obvious irritation.
I cursed them, I don't mind telling you.

Other annoyances include the crazies on the street; before you lecture me about how these people deserve our charity, compassion, etc, know that I DO know this, but when an elderly homeless man spits at you as you walk by, and when a man carrying his bike up the subway stairs, muttering "F*cks, you're all f*cks" all the while staring at you with his too-bright eyes, when someone stands on the corner of Shuter and Church screaming that he wants a coffee, when a man, clearly employed and well-employed, wearing a watch worth more than most engagements rings and is neatly dressed, pees up against a Starbucks wall after what I can only guess was a very gruelling night out, then I stop feeling those friendly feelings of sadness at their plight, and start feeling the more appropriate reaction: Fear. I hate walking / running along the streets in broad daylight feeling afraid. I hate knowing that the taxes I so dutifully pay do not seem to be able to help these people, and that the economic circumstances of the past few years seem to be breeding more and more of them. And if you've ever had the happenstance to wander by the Rat man outside Nathan Phillips Square, well then, all bets are off. He doesn't LOOK like a rat. He HAS rats. ALL OVER HIM. Yes, I ran, screaming, across the street, with Rat man yelling after me, like I was the one with the problem. ( I HATE rats. They terrify me. I identified so thoroughly with Winston in 1984).

Anyway. On to more positive postings (I hope).
Lately my life is work-come-home-try-to-make-healthy-dinner-fall-asleep-by-1o-try-and-write-in-blog-try-not-to-sound-like-lunatic.
Honestly. How does anyone find time to do anything other than work and sleep.
How, I ask you, could I ever even try to plan a wedding like this?

More later.

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