I've found work somewhat frustrating of late. Which is no big deal, really; I'm doing new things on top of other new things, the group I work with is in the midst of serious change, and thus everybody's too busy to communicate well.
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This is usually insignificant and not what I'd rather waste your time with, except I post from work. The fact that I post against a stark backdrop of frustration and miscommunication affects my comments here considerably.
I've always been a part-time threadshitter and minor troll, but I've tried to balance my goofs with thoughtfulness and candor about myself and how I run. I don't think I go into otherwise harmonious threads and ruin them, but I've certainly leapt of late at the chance to tussle.
When I'm frustrated, I seem to gravitate toward frustrating threads, or threads with potential seams of frustration that I duly mine with the frenzy of a Yukon panner. Part of this may be my furtive refreshing of the recent comments; if one pops up that I can release a little dudgeon towards, I will.
I don't think my starting point in these forays is wrong, usually, but I know for sure my intransigence is. I have a tendency to draw myself into stances I've just lambasted someone else for; this strains my credibility and makes no friends. Where I should put nothing, I put a sentence, and where I put a sentence, I tend to put forth an argument, and where I put forth an argument, I put forth a defense, and that strident defensiveness, combined with my
laissez-faire attitude toward my own hypocrisy, has led me to commit regretful lapses of decency and consideration, which drag discourse into a mire of anger and recrimination (usually and embarrassingly, I get my nastiest when adressing nastiness, real or perceived, in others).
This is specifically an apology to iconomy and to shane, for my having made high stink recently when I should have done nothing at all. I'm sorry.
At first this moniker I chose gave me a carefree feeling, that I could say whatever I wanted, good or bad, and still give vent to dung because, after all, I'm a big asshole. Now it's a bit of a trap, and though I'd love to blame my name or my workplace frustrations for the jerk I become, I really have nobody to blame but myself. I've made my bed, my capacious, filthy bed, and here I find myself lodged in it now and again.
It stinks.