Annoying

"Did the forty minutes of banging you went though in the MRI annoy you?" I asked my father.

"No. I have a higher threshold for getting annoyed, unlike some people," he replied.

I knew who he meant. I do feel the pressure, do get annoyed.

I also show massive amounts of patience. There is a lot of correction to be done, information to be passed, tasks to be accomplished, and it is vital that I not show judgement or impatience or annoyance during those times, even if it is slowing me down and stopping my productivity.

But yes, when that role is off, my frustrations bubble up. After nine hours waiting with my mother in the hospital, driving back at midnight, I said that was hard.

"Haven't you had to work a full eight hour day?" my father retorted.

Yes, but you get a lunch break, have some control, bring what helps you get though, don't have to always be on alert, don't have to suffer though bloody crap Simon Cowell TV show, and on and on. I needed to blow, but blowing anything out was just another sign I was the impatient, nasty annoying one.

Dr. Phil says that there is always a "squeaky wheel" in the family, but they are just a sign of dysfunction, not the whole problem. He uses the term "squeaky wheel" because "scapegoat" doesn't sound as nice, even though they are both terms for the one who takes the pressure & blame and is identified as trouble because they show it.

Am I annoyed? Hell yes. I am a raging, outraged and outrageous queer. (And none of the 10 inventions on American Inventor were "outrageous," thank you very much.)

But my job is to eat that annoyance and keep things on keel.

And yes, that is annoying, but what can I do about it other than let it kill off a little more of me?

Now I have to ghostwrite the angry letter from my mother to her doctors for keeping her in the ICU for two unneccessary days.

Write outrage, just don't be outraged or outrageous. I get it.

D-uh-ie.