No shit

Fight or flight is an instinctive response when challenged or under threat, not just for the likes of you and me, but in the animal kingdom to. It’s a basic principle of survival no matter what species you are. In me the inclination to turn and fight as always been much stronger than the instinct to run. That’s my make-up perhaps, but informed by attitude – I’ve pretty well scorned the option to turn tail and flee, regardless of merit. H doesn’t run from anything.

I recognise what a silly stricture that is, and how on occasion I’d have been a lot better off playing it safe than squaring up for a battle. Of course that has been pride, and ego, and all those unfortunate attributes that men like me can suffer from. One of the things I’ve done with my recent reset is relinquish a good part of my ego, for that’s what it amounts to. Still, my fundamental self remains. My first inclination when challenged is to take up the fight. I am by temperament an aggressive character, learned perhaps and rational – if not reasonable – I’m still prone to feel it bubble up in me like a shot of adrenalin.

I’m feeling some of that today, and for a combination of reasons.

I wrote yesterday about A, the girl at work, and how I hoped to be available to her come hell or high water. I want to present my best self to her without being intrusive. That’s all I could do I figured.

That remains true today but that situation, combined with a few petty and routine issues at work has left me feeling impatient, frustrated and inclined to rant. It’s even in how I walk.

Basically I feel hard done being misunderstood on top of all the other shit I had to endure, none of which she is aware of, as few are. I feel a bit put upon, though it’s not her or any other person who personify it, rather some general notion of the world. It’s probably triggered by what I wrote about yesterday, the sense of having no say in things you want desperately to speak up about. That way is blocked, and in its place arises hostile frustration.

I admit I don’t dislike the sensation of being strident. It lends an edge to my actions that seems actually to draw people to me. I’m hard eyed and my language is crisp. I’m not much good at the niceties at the best of times, but they’re dispensed with altogether.

It’s how I sit here on a Thursday afternoon leading into the Easter break, stripped of the extraneous. I don’t blame anyone, I’m not about to have a crack, I’m just direct, no nonsense and stripped back to the basics. The essential me, perhaps.

I’ll have quiet drink after work and blow off some steam, no harm done.

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