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Permission for anger

  • Work

A respected mentor of mine linked me to this piece when I had expressed, possibly for the first time, how absolutely angry I was/am. I would quote more paragraphs, but I might end up just copying the whole piece, so here goes.

Dalglish Chew:

The selfless impulse to take responsibility and to repair is a marvel to behold. Under the right circumstances, it is a precious gift that has the power to change lives and heal a broken world into wholeness. But without anger to remind us where we end and others begin, we have no way of knowing whether we’re using our gifts out of choice or compulsion.

on the cyclical nature of my own unbecoming

  • Life

Needless to say, it’s been a whole month since the last post, and things haven’t improved.

Actually, it’s been worse — I’ve been stuck in a cycle of being angry, being angry at myself for being angry, and wishing I could take all the lessons of stoicism and Taoism and let it go like water’s off a duck’s back. Instead, I replay conversations and interactions, over-think as I am wont to do, and end up feeling more indignant and helpless than moments before.

To wit: I think the burnout is super real, y’all.

I’m also not sure what is fun for me, anymore. More to figure out when I have some free time, I think.

Either way. I want to be better and I want to do better by myself. Using my own personal laptop for the first time in the past month should hopefully help. Then the week comes by, and I find myself staring at my work laptop screen from 8 in the morning til midnight, and if the ‘work async, not ASAP’ sticker that I keep as a reminder had eyes, it would be my favorite monkey puppet meme.

Becoming less of a work-bot

  • Work

If you looked up the definition of sheepish, you’ll probably find my face right there. Mostly due to the fact that I have been neglecting this journaling habit, which was something I held quite proudly of for last year.

2021: never missing a week!

2022: does ‘a week’ mean anything, actually? what is this archaic concept of time we hold ourselves to? why have we shackled ourselves—

Etc, etc.

This entire second half of the year has been a test that I have been consistently failing, I think. I find myself buried with work, and burying myself with more of it. My free thoughts are fleeting, consumed by the things for work I’m wasting time not doing right now and the things I should be doing, but I don’t have the mind space to sit down for them right now. It’s pretty dire, and in no way strategic.

Or any good for my mental health, that I know for sure.

I talk about putting guard rails a lot, but I also kick them down on my own volition. There are things I know I need to be better at:

Better at saying no.

Better at managing my expectations.

Better at putting myself first.

Which, yikes, sounds kind of like a humble brag, no?

the passage of time

  • Life

Time almost feels a little meaningless right now.

It has been—

—more than two years since the pandemic started.

—28 years since my first fully-formed memory (of my father waking me up in a cab)

—2 days since I zoned out and dissociated while I was taking the train, that I don’t remember when and how I got through the motion of tapping when when I got out of the station, until I was halfway on my bus ride

—24 days since I last wrote an entry

—4 months, roughly, since my official diagnosis of what the fuck’s up with my back

—2 years and 10 months since the last time I was out of the country

—2 weeks since I got my new passport

—Many, many months since I’ve focused on reading

Anyway. Work has ramped up to be completely wild, yet again. I wistfully read articles about people quietly quitting, knowing I’m the opposite of that.

Life goes.