Frustrationale

Days like this one make my think that I may need to add another rule to my list.

It's funny in a sad way how you can always tell what your disposition for the day will be by the first thought that crosses your mind when the alarm goes off, or, in my case, after the third snooze. Today's thought of the day may be best described as a string of colorful expletives.

In typical fashion I felt slightly ill as soon as my feet hit the floor, and the trip to the bathroom was, to say the least, unpleasant. After my shower I discovered, as each individual hair was being heartlessly plucked out of my face, that the charge on my electric razor was running out. As I was trying to get dressed the zipper of my pants got stuck and would not budge.

When I was finally put together enough to head out I ended up spilling my coffee all over my white uniform shirts and khaki pants that I was bringing in to have laundered. When I got in the car and tried to call my boss to let him know that I was running a few minutes late, he never picked up.

On the way to work I was tailgated by someone who was far too excited about getting to the office, and, as if we were in some kind of race, the lady sped up and passed me on the right as I was moving into the left turning lane, crossing two lanes of traffic at break-neck speed just to get to the stop light before me.

When I got to work and was trying to figure out where to deposit my now officially soiled uniform clothes the lady at the turn-in spot tried to lecture me about the dangers of coat hangers and how it would bring the world to a violent and horrible end if someone accidentally pricked their finger on one.

When I went to our dining facility to get breakfast I passed by the crowd of people waiting for their scrambled egg substitutes to get to the guy who served the more palatable stuff, only to be glared at by a half dozen line nazis who though that I should have waited until they were entirely sated before I should be allowed to ask for a single crumb of the pathetic excuses for food they peddle here.

After paying for my scraps and my generic coffee I grabbed a handful of powdered non-dairy creamer and some artificial sweetener, only to find out after bloating up to twice my size that said creamer actually contained milk. Non-dairy, my non-hairy backside!

Lunch time rolls around and because of that glorified sock juice they call coffee here and the non-dairy milk-infested colorizing agent they got from the cheapest supplier I'm still feeling like I just stepped away from a marathon buffet session at the Golden Corral, even though I barely ate anything at breakfast, then four hours earlier.

When I finally settled back in to get some work done after only being able to eat a few potato chips for lunch I checked my inbox and my boss' boss had forwarded me an email from the Colonel, two Lieutenants Colonel, a Captain, and our Public Affairs chief, with an attachment and one line that read, "Eric, please get it done."

As I was getting it done I discovered that even though I had made the requested updates to the website they were not making it to the live site because our server is proxied and the live version of our website is hosted two states away from here by people who don't care that my commander wants to see those changes, like, yesterday. An hour and twenty minutes after I had done about five minutes' worth of work I was finally able to let my boss know that the new content was live.

In my frustration I've lost the desire to to anything. All I want to do is go home and go back to bed.

Maybe that new rule should read something like this: I will not allow my frustration to overtake me and keep me from performing my duties and tasks.

Maybe.

But I guess I don't want to reinvent that wheel, at least not so soon, so I guess I'll act like none of this bothers me and write.

Hmm... nah. I'm too frustrated for that.