Frustrations — By Tommy Purser
Twenty-three years ago, almost to the day, I was having a bad day at the office. A very bad day.
Today, 23 years later, I’ve been having another such day.
Twenty-three years ago it was computer glitches that overwhelmed me with frustration, leading me to abandon all hope of getting my column done for that week. This week the computer has been fine. It’s my impatience that’s been working its way into the crevices of my brain like earthworms weaving into rich soil in search of nutrients.
My impatience has left me frustrated.
“Frustrated” isn’t the word I’m looking for here. “Mad” would be closer. “Infuriated” would be even better. “Teed Off” almost gets there.
Frustrations tend to strain one’s brain to the limit. And it seems to me that the older I get, the dumber I get. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around. But what do I know …. I’m getting dumber.
I used to not be so dumb. When frustrations hit, I usualy could get them calmed down fairly eesily.
There was a cartune I saw once that showed a classroom full of students. One student had his hand in the err and the caption read, “Teacher. My brain is full.”
I think thas my problem. My brain is full and its starting to discord some of the you’s less information to make rum for new no ledge. At less thas what I suspeck.
Lately, I’ve bin having probe limbs with spelling and the gulls here at the lead jar thinks its reel humanless.
They punt out my mice steaks with mush laugh her and grate joy.
I wood far theme for in support in nation butt I done want to bee sooed. ln the cast of the gud whiff, who werks her at the lead jar, she mite soo fer deer force. True fizz, I cant far no buddy. 1m two niece a guide.
Foot not: I fin dished my call yum wit the lass sin tins. Butt know I half an udder probe limb: my spill chick pro game dun werk no moor. I try to chick the spill in in my call yum butt hit trys to tall me tat lottza wered swear spilled in core wreck lea.
Thas a laff. Gauze lone swear a gud spiller an one a spilling beet in the thirst great. Curse, I was yon grrrrr beck thin. And, lie I sed bee four, thee elder I git, thee dum her I git.
Well, may bee think swill git bet her nest weak.
Sea u thin.
