I don't so much mind the overstimulation leaking onto other areas of my life, but lashing out at the person I love most is the saddening, sobering consequence of a pattern continuing for far too long. Not only are the tasks not handled, but I come home irritable and no fun to be around. It's a lose-lose.
It happened to you not long ago: A friend you haven't seen in entirely too long was up and at it, ready to make plans. You talked to them for a while. You found a time and place that agreed with both of your schedules. They were so excited, and you were too - you've been missing each other deeply. The days passed, and there was a small voice in the back of your head that you ignored; one that said "They're going to flake. They always do." Sure enough... How about this: Work t
There's another kind of tragedy here, one that takes place on an individual level - the same one I find myself grappling with at this very moment. Why must I wait to hear what my chosen media outlet says about this - or anything, for that matter - before I can form my own opinion?
