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Memoir: On Irritation

The novelist Kingsley Amis devoted much of his long, long career to a catalogue of irritants. He was an extremely irritable person, and this particular (apparently minor-league) emotion fueled several small masterpieces. In preparation for "Ending Up," he actually listed 45 tiny things that annoyed him, and then built them into his novel.

We sometimes forget that "negative" emotions can be fruitful. My old teacher, Amy Bloom, had, I think, the best Susan Collins Tweet I've seen thus far: "Politics upsets me. My loathing for Susan Collins inspires me." And it's true that a detestable person can light a fire under you. You may not even notice, so be-stirred are you by your rage and exasperation.

In the spirit of Montaigne, and with a tip of the hat to Mr. Amis, I'd like to list, here, some things that really piss me off:

-E-mail etiquette. Do you know what really bugs me? When I convey a change in plan by email, and a client writes, "But I thought XXX and YYY and ZZZ." Then you have to swallow your annoyance. You may not respond with: "As I've already written....." Or: "Once again...." You must instead calmly restate the facts. Then the person inevitably responds: "Yes, I saw that." And you cannot--you must not--type: "If you saw that, then why did you imply you hadn't seen it?"

-When an employer writes, via broadcast notice, "Let's everyone have a great day!" Ugh. It's not going to be a great day. A great day would be a beach-side afternoon in St. Lucia. A more appropriate notice would be: "Let's have a passable day." Or: "Please have the day you're going to have." Enough with the bullying disguised as cheeriness!

-You're meant to combat irritation with self-care. Fair enough, but it is challenging to have compassion for yourself if you have a headache, or your beef taco from last night isn't sitting particularly well, or your cough has persisted for approximately one month. You may not really want to have kind thoughts toward your body. Your body may seem like an obnoxious stranger: The gut, the thinning hair. Your mind wanders to the comment your husband felt impelled to make at 2 AM today, as he happened to smell your onion-y breath: "Hmmm....what did you have for dinner?" And you might wish to send everyone--your own smelly body, your briefly passive-aggressive spouse, your few remaining hairs--far, far away, to a remote island, for a spell.

-When your chapstick seems to attract several small bits of hair. It's a free chapstick; it was distributed at some promotional event; you're meant to read the label and then support whatever cause the chapstick is hawking. Because it's free, it's really shitty chapstick. But you can't throw it away, because, like your gut and your coiffure, your perpetually-parched lips seem to be at war with you. But why have several small hairs gathered on the orange rim of the stick? Why are your facial hairs collecting, in a pool, in your backpack, and then invading your various potions and balms? And if, studying the hairy chapstick, you feel sickened--then why don't you throw it away? Why are you applying it to your lower lip? Is it really that difficult to take a short trip to Rite Aid?

-When Google won't help. I'm so pleased with the new Gmail feature that provides short, chipper replies to business emails: You just click on a small button, and your email will say, "Received, thank you!" Or: "Will do!" Or: "Got it, thank you." These replies are inevitably calmer and more professional than the thing I'm inclined to type, which might be: "This communication was irrelevant." Or: "Refer to the instructions from September 17." It gives me great pleasure to click the professional-conduct button, because it allows me to say the right, mature thing, without actually saying it. In other words, I'm making the adult gesture, but I'm also secretly abstaining. I know, in my heart, THESE AREN'T MY REAL WORDS. This experience is immensely, bizarrely satisfying. So, on those occasions when Google fails me, when it does not tell me what to say? I feel royally peeved.

And that's all for today.

Yours, In Deep Irritation,
Daniel B.

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