I have always been a rather impatient, frustrated person. Even at a very young age, I remember being taunted at church camp (Church Camp of all places, WTF?!) for having "stress." Picture this, a 12 year-old me sitting in the canteen pushing a lukewarm chicken patty and three-day-old green beans around a plastic plate while my peers chant "Dana has stress! Dana has stress!" I suppose I should have been glad it was stress and not something more humiliating like enormous acne scars or snaggle teeth, which indeed, I had then.Thinking back on this now, I remembered being really angry and even tearful at the chants because 1) a 12 year-old shouldn't really know STRESS in the adult sense of the term, let alone be teased for it and 2) did I mention this was CHURCH CAMP?! Had I been wise, I would have paid a therapist to undo the mind-print this experience left. :) This is also where praying should have come in handy.
Eighteen years later, that pre-teen stress has evolved in the gradual decline of composure and patience. I simply don't have much of it these days. I am wondering aloud right now if this is a cyclical thing, meaning that when I'm in my later years I'll be footloose and fancy free? I like to picture myself as a cool old bag, blue hair a-flyin' as I drive my badass red convertible down the highway at breakneck speeds. (If you're gonna go, do it kickass, I say.)
Or, is the slow erosion of patience and thus sanity, something that eventually whittles down to a nub and then *Poof!* you're what they all call 'over the edge?' Maybe they're one and the same thing? Just thinking about that right now.
Occasionally my friends here me say "I just hate people." Now, forgive me the harsh language - it's semantics - but it's the best way I can say it in the throes of a moment. People, in general, piss me off. As I grow older, I've begun losing that charming PR function of the brain. You know, the funnel-to-filter mechanism that helps mask the angst in a stressful situation? At 30 years-old, I'm running with the big girls wearing my contempt sometimes in an eye flash or a crooked downward smile. I'm trying, the will to try is still there, but I'm not as good at it as I was say, in college or high school. (Back in the 1990s, it wasn't considered cool to be a flamboyantly crass asshole like it is now. Now, kids throw vulgarity around like they do cash at an Abercrombie.)
My point is, I'm growing a bit concerned about blowing it too early (forgive the again vulgar pun) as it comes to being jaded, sarcastic, and cynical. I fear I'm losing my faith in people these days. I get frustrated, angry, and downright disappointed when I see people behaving in a manner I find disrespectful, nasty, or just plain insane. Don't get me wrong, there's a time and place for nastiness and friendly, sarcastic banter, but I'm finding that RUDE permeates the everyday a little much for my tastes. I'm beginning to wonder if I can hold it all in anymore. Take this example:
On Sunday afternoon, my boyfriend and I went to a grocery store to stock up on essentials for the week and the store was packed to the seams with people hunting down deals, bumper-carring their payloads, and generally getting in the way. Picture if you will, crowded aisles filled with people in motorized carts (I'd say a 2 to 1 aisle ratio), kids in those GD heelies, and loud, foul-mouthed adults peeling coupons and pissing and moaning over the fact that their government debit won't cover cigs. Anyway, after pushing the cart and trying to be humorous for the first fifteen minutes, it begins to escalate. The heat in the building rises; 1/2 of the store smells like rotting seafood (imagine!), and I've been scraped on the heels twice by offending carts. I've been forced to wait while people back up, pull up, move over, scuttle sideways, and I'm starting to feel like that kid in heelies is itching for a close-lining. (Note - I have promised my boyfriend NEVER to do this as technically, it is assault.)
What gives me pause about this situation now is that under these circumstances, in the past, I was able to merely mutter a few comments under my breath and go on with my day. Frustrated yes, but under control and really not all that bothered in the long run. But on this given Sunday, note one that was wrapping up a pretty damn good weekend, I didn't respond the same way.
Still in zone near the dairy section, I glanced away from the cart while searching for sharp cheddar cheese. It was then that I felt a jolt - someone had crashed into the end of my cart. In a flash, I snapped my attention forward, fist raised, ready to swing. Only in front of me was not an evil assailant, but my neighbor who wanted to give me a friendly tap on the cart as she passed.
*Whew!
Crisis averted! But still...WHAT was I thinking rearing back like that? Was I really going to strike someone for hitting my cart? Maybe? I don't know. At age 30, does your sense of decorum despite the madness start to go like the engine in a Dodge Stratus after only five years?! Wow. I scare myself.
Thinking about it scares me to death.
Had it not been my super cool neighbor, rather some everyday jackweed, would I really have shouted and waved my first around like a crazy person? Would I have buckled under stress and flung my green peppers like grenades?
I.Don't.Know.
And I'm scared to death. This is likely the part of the story where the doc prescribes a Prozac or Paxil, but frankly, I don't feel that imbalanced. I just have a rapidly deteriorating filter.
If you know me, you know I won't hit a person, especially a stranger, in a situation like this; however, my knee-jerk body response to this gave me a shake to reality.
I'm losing my patience.
Fast.
What IS it about old age and losing patience? I find that I get frustrated in even the smallest, most inadvertent moments. I don't want people walking in the door when I'm walking out; I want everyone to go at least five over the speed limit or I'm up their tailpipe (forgive the phrase) wailing on my horn. (Note - it's really hard to stay angry when your car horn sounds like a friendly salute, even when you're attempting viciousness.) :)
Seeing a blemish in the morning on my face is tantamount to destroying the day for me. The wind gets on my nerves. (After all, it's nearly always blowing something.)
And on...and on...
And I'll be honest, I'm NOT an unhappy person! I'm a pretty happy-go-lucky gal for the most part. I just want things to move quickly, smoothly, and in a rational order. The little chaos things or the actions that impede my progress, well, they're starting to affect me more significantly than ever.
(Moment of pondering...this CAN'T be the GD Change. Not possible. Now THAT would really piss me off.)
But it's the little things, the little bits of disrespect, and more often than not, it's the inanimate objects - the destroyed toilets in the bathroom wafting offending odors, the impossible paper towel dispensers, the hangers in the laundry room that seem to procreate with one another, and the unsuspecting pothole in the streets. This is what makes me 'lose it' more than anything.
I get irate about semi tractor-trailers, especially when they back up on a side street blocking all routes of traffic while they maneuver into a spot 3 feet wide. I get flamed when radio stations play the same three Li'l Wayne songs over and over. (Don't even start me on Lady Gaga.)
See? It's really not people...it's the product of people.
Does this make me crazy?
Or just old?
The other day I went up to a gas station attendant and (gasp) I asked to buy a pack of cigarettes (details of the reason not needed here). The pubescent behind the counter asked to see my ID. Of course, I was flattered. (18?! Holy hell! Awesome!)
But no...
I responded by flashing my driver's license, saying "Wow, that's flattering, thanks."
To which he responded,
"Well, you elderly people are looking younger and younger every day."
ELDERLY!?
(()*&(E^(&@)%*)(JDSOFI&)(*U&WS^))(*)#&%)*)$*)!*_0823570dso79087=!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Fill in what you will here.
Very much like the grocery store incident, I felt indeed compelled to punch my fist through customer service window, showing this snot-nosed drug-induced gas bag what elderly meant.
JUDO CHOP!
But I didn't. Filter engaged that time.
The point (and maybe moral) of this story is, is that as I get older, I'm finding that the torment and ability to 'reign it in' is becoming significantly more difficult. People can visibly see me wrestling with these moments, almost audibly coaching myself down. (Or they can see my boyfriend coaching me down...whatever.)
It's just that...the little nuisances are beginning to make me crazy.
I can handle a crisis. I can't seem to wrestle with benignity of police car ahead of me on the road slowing traffic down to a fearful crawl. It's enough to make my head spin. :)
I suppose this makes me not only older, but Type A.
But am I alone?
Surely they don't license this brand of crazy to just anyone.
Do they?
No comments:
Post a Comment