[1066] Wobbles

I think I'm ready to claim feeling stressed out now. It only happens when a series of things build up over time that I feel little to no control over. I wasn't looking forward to going to Louder Than Life. 6 hours driving on a Sunday by itself set the poor mood. An inability to catch one of the main acts I wished to see soured it further. Spending 25 minutes in a fast food lane having not eaten all day before leaving for home just poured it on.

Over the weekend I'm already riding the annoyance train with a client who overstepped several times after being told explicitly to stop. He doubled down Monday. I drew the line in the sand with my job telling them they can fire me or simply allow me to be fully remote. I'm sick of wasting 3 hours in drive time, the goodwill left in my oil or gas guzzling vehicles, and general productivity sitting around the fucking office for no reason. I'm fairly certain the relief I'll feel in leaving will be greater than any meager satisfaction if they cave.

My head hurts. My stomach has been upset for an hour. I hit a fucking dear driving on the fucking highway I had no business being on leaving the fucking building I had no reason to be in. I've never felt "caught up" in my sleep after the late arrival home Monday morning. Now I'm home at 10 PM writing because I can't just be left alone to eat whatever shit I must to work this job without the added resentment of getting fucked on top of it.

On the plus side, I managed to steal a new sink head after trying to just buy one, being told it would be a "special order," so I unscrewed one from the display. The flow was immensely satisfying when I washed my hands. I popped a Tums for my stomach. I got all my shit and groceries inside. I need to lay down before a headache hits.

I'm 35 years old. I can't seem to find a friendship, relationship, or otherwise that isn't begging for a diagnosis. My clients, overwhelmingly, wish to tread water. I've NEVER worked for a dignified genuine leader. The people who I've popped in on or learned about are living the 30-something version of sadness, depression, or anxiety having tried to do the exact things their parents did to get us in the cultural mess we're in. For all of my work, interests, demonstrated capacity, and genuine enthusiasm and goodwill I exert on this miserable existence, I feel I'm owed considerably more. I'm some bizarre version of hermit-hipster-tech bro desperately trying not to espouse some ironic detached view of the world only to be pummeled to death the more he plugs into it.

I am not blind to my otherwise regal status, but it rests on a story of infinite precarity and spite. Does no one else crave something balanced, trustworthy, and well-reasoned with regard to how they work, what they're worth, and why?