I don’t like being annoyed. It frustrates me because I should never let myself get to the point where I’m actually “annoyed.” My general philosophy is that if I’m annoyed, I’ve let myself become so by not correcting that which annoyed me when it was first noticed.
    For example; the family company is one that I’ve invested my entire life in. At this point in time tehre are two incompetent tack managers in play. The first of which is a Texan with less brain capacity than a burmese python but with the attiributes of said serpent. The second is a do-nothing, go-nowhere, wannabe biker single mom who couldn’t successfully manage her own bank book or decide on what loaf of bread to buy at the grocery store. These are the people who have been granted access to the checkbook of my forefathers and bank which fund our family operation.
    Annoyed…
    I wish to talk about my concerns to my father, the President, but alas, cannot, for fear of what might be said: that i’m a micro manager, over-worrying paranoid schizophrenic who needs to keep my eyes on the floor and leave the rest to the big boys.
    So I talk to my sister and we decide the correct course of action. We will wait until our cousin gets back in six weeks and until that time, it will be us two who monitor and micro manage and keep our money where it needs to be. Neither one of us have ever enjoyed being annoyed. We’re annoyed by our friends who make stupid mistakes and prove all their short comings…we’re annoyed by our significant others/boyfriends who let us down when they think they’re doing us right. We’re let down by our predecessors, our teachers, our own family, and we have to adjust and correct to avert disaster and make their mistakes less dangerous. We have to transform potential Chernobyl-level nuclear meltdowns to a simple microwave malfunction (metaphorically, anyway). We were born and raised to be perfect employees, we were born and raised to work for the family business. We were engineered for what we now do and we do it all very well with high precision and efficiency.
    And we’re constantly thwarted. Constantly annoyed. And it frustrates me because I know, somewhere along the way, it’s my fault that I’m annoyed. I should’ve seen these train-wrecks coming, should’ve been there to prevent them from ever leaving the station…I should’ve been perfect.
    My sister knows exactly how I feel.
    So now we plan the Coup De Tat and, in six weeks when our final asset, our third army, or next defense, our cousin gets back…we may once again avert disaster and come out of this reeking pile of shit smelling of ambrosia and nectar.
   

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