There is much in the world to be irritated with, even for folk who are not committed curmudgeons, I am sure.
1. The Corega ad. I don’t know who wrote that copy, but immediately after the guy septuagenarian says “embarrassing” the picture cuts to him in baggy shorts with a surfboard on the beach. Really, bro’, that is WAY more infra dig than your dentures dropping into your guacamole on your first date with the old duck you met online. No, really. Take up bowling. (Did these Corega people do ANY market research A-TALL?)
2. The cherry picker in the road. Some explanation might be required here. It’s 10h30 on a Thursday night. I have just finished my research report proposal and posted it on basecamp and there is a big truck with a diesel engine idling virtually on my front doorstep, two floors down. When I rushed out, eventually, irritated curious, a man in a plastic basket was floating slowly skywards. I am happy that They are changing the busted globe in the street light, and am trying hard to be grateful for limited service delivery in a formerly white area.
3. The thought that the written word, once an old friend, becomes one’s enemy when it becomes a mode of production. Sort of. Because look, here I am.
Anyway. As I was saying, there is much to be irritated about, but I am not. I don’t care that I will probably only get seven hours’ sleep tonight. Or that I have grown this HUGE pimple the size of a fava bean right under my eyebrow, next to the bridge of my nose, just when the quintuple fever blisters on my lip and chin have started to heal. Really. I am almost unbearably happy. Even as I should be irritated about the fact that it may well not last.
(I am not even irritated by SADTU’s participation in the public service strike. And my 3G connection is only annoying – not enraging, like it normally is. I have it bad, clearly. )