My faithful readers know enough of my character to think that the description of me as a person lacking patience is, if not accurate, at least an understatement.
A lack which I believe has been less and less apparent in the years wherein the posts on this blog have been increasingly few in number, but not solely because the quick temper was less often expressed. I pride myself on being very near the most balanced person that I can be. Very near indeed. If you, my dear dear reader are aware of faults in your own character, of which you know that with continuing self-restraint AND self-discipline you may lessen their evil influence over your actions and more importantly reactions, would it not hurt you in no small part to notice that hard work being undone by a source outside of yourself?
For that is what for ten months now haunts me.
I might never wake up happy, but nonetheless I wake up often enough well-rested and contented, vigorous and with a myriad creative ideas to occupy my time outside the dull four walls of office space, but every day by lunchtime all my vigour, patience and determination are sapped. Sapped clear and dry (not sure if this is a proper english-language expression) because it takes whatever energy I can muster to keep my temper under control while my good intentions and clear instructions are being mocked and met with disdain and puzzled looks.
A lack which I believe has been less and less apparent in the years wherein the posts on this blog have been increasingly few in number, but not solely because the quick temper was less often expressed. I pride myself on being very near the most balanced person that I can be. Very near indeed. If you, my dear dear reader are aware of faults in your own character, of which you know that with continuing self-restraint AND self-discipline you may lessen their evil influence over your actions and more importantly reactions, would it not hurt you in no small part to notice that hard work being undone by a source outside of yourself?
For that is what for ten months now haunts me.
I might never wake up happy, but nonetheless I wake up often enough well-rested and contented, vigorous and with a myriad creative ideas to occupy my time outside the dull four walls of office space, but every day by lunchtime all my vigour, patience and determination are sapped. Sapped clear and dry (not sure if this is a proper english-language expression) because it takes whatever energy I can muster to keep my temper under control while my good intentions and clear instructions are being mocked and met with disdain and puzzled looks.
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