fflo | anger & resentment

How does one know---or does one know?---when these feelings are perilous invitations down the path to the very kind of (fer instance) petulance that has inspired them? That is to say, is it or isn't it dangerous or unwise to go there, whole-hog? Or is the only way to transcend them to delve into them deeply, if not outright wallowingly?

I guess I coulda made it a poll, with all that as the one question, and asked people to answer its annoying vagueness in (what is it) 255 characters or fewer.

I've got this book out on Buddhist practice & agnosticism, and it's resonating all over for me. I suppose its take would be just to observe the feelings. And I have been observing them. That observation brings about more feelings, like frustration and fear. Is it stirring the pot? Or is it (okay I'm being facetious now) a watched pot not boiling, or a pot referring to a kettle's similar color as if it's bad, or some other pot metaphor?

In other news: a big day at the office. Sad, but a prompting to celebrate our finest fellows while we have 'em, and afterwards. Had a good conversation this evening with coworker, too, that was prompted by a related accident & felt really good. Thought about her while reading the Buddhist book later, putting off The Cocoanuts. It's hard to explain---or even to understand fully---how my workplace is so not just a workplace, even when I (occasionally) wish it were (as others there sometimes also do). Oh, of course it IS just a workplace, too, and it is all of what a workplace is...

No, I'm not in an altered state. I suppose I could cite not having gotten much sleep last night. The rain's just starting to deplete the mugginess here, so we'll see how well I catch up tonight. Last night it wasn't the less-than-ideal sleeping weather that kept me up but a burst of some kind of creative/emotional energy which came on fairly late in the evening & with which I didn't want to part consciousness by surrendering to the Sandman. (Alas, "Sandperson" is just too mod for such a figure.)

I blew off this evening's planned chores, yielding to the psyche's desire, including the impulse to go eat a sandwich in air conditioning & write an overdue letter to snail mail correspondent T"E'R'W"T. It does put me behind on my "should"s & my "gotta"s, but so be it.

I shall now close with the latest (of the unusually many) wrong number messages I've gotten in the last week---from Sarah Vowell, I swear to god, or at least her audio Doppelganger: "mm-Hi. Just calling you to say hi. Didn't call all day & wondered how you're doing, nothing special honey. Bye."