The follies of enjoying life more than a Vulcan could
I feel weird, today. I think I'm angry.
It's like frustration, only it feels kind of good in a weird way. It sounds like what the people I know who get angry a lot describe, when I talk to them-- Kind of an "I'm powerful" feeling is part of it... I don't like it. It seems... Synthetic.
I don't have much use for fake things, but as stretched, disheartened and hopeless as the past couple months have felt on some days, I suppose this could be helpful, until I can see the big picture or get some momentum.
Shifting away from anger, specifically;
Lots of people I have known over the years have had the kind of emotional "control" that is tantamount to choosing which downhill path to drop the rock down.
I don't see that as control or stability, so much as throwing rocks-- And a change in course means going off the path, and crushing the villagers.
I prefer an engine, brakes, steering and suspension travel.
Actually, I prefer a very responsive engine with delicate, precise power resolution, and brakes of the same... And long suspension travel, with very low unsprung weight... And gas-charged dampening, on the springs.
As it turns out, in my failure to see my priorities and options for what they are, I have woken up to find myself in an american car. And american car driven by a blond woman, applying mascara and lipstick while painting her nails, and talking on her cell phone, leaving her right elbow to steer and change gears.
Since that takes three appendages, it's clear I'm not only in an american car with a hap-hazard blonde... It's an automatic!
That was bad enough, till yesterday, when I was running on top of a boulder, downhill... Trying to gain the reigns, with little perceptible effect, while unable to see the landscape charging at me from behind.
That's totally unacceptable.
It's like frustration, only it feels kind of good in a weird way. It sounds like what the people I know who get angry a lot describe, when I talk to them-- Kind of an "I'm powerful" feeling is part of it... I don't like it. It seems... Synthetic.
I don't have much use for fake things, but as stretched, disheartened and hopeless as the past couple months have felt on some days, I suppose this could be helpful, until I can see the big picture or get some momentum.
Shifting away from anger, specifically;
Lots of people I have known over the years have had the kind of emotional "control" that is tantamount to choosing which downhill path to drop the rock down.
I don't see that as control or stability, so much as throwing rocks-- And a change in course means going off the path, and crushing the villagers.
I prefer an engine, brakes, steering and suspension travel.
Actually, I prefer a very responsive engine with delicate, precise power resolution, and brakes of the same... And long suspension travel, with very low unsprung weight... And gas-charged dampening, on the springs.
As it turns out, in my failure to see my priorities and options for what they are, I have woken up to find myself in an american car. And american car driven by a blond woman, applying mascara and lipstick while painting her nails, and talking on her cell phone, leaving her right elbow to steer and change gears.
Since that takes three appendages, it's clear I'm not only in an american car with a hap-hazard blonde... It's an automatic!
That was bad enough, till yesterday, when I was running on top of a boulder, downhill... Trying to gain the reigns, with little perceptible effect, while unable to see the landscape charging at me from behind.
That's totally unacceptable.