I arrived in Hong Kong on Thursday morning.

While normally, I leap at the chance to be in Asia, I will tell you that I am elbows deep in an abnormally sucky trip to Asia.  The schedule is brutal; the meetings keep getting moved around; the weather is not nice; the people have been unpleasant; and the vast majority of the ex-pat friends I’d ordinarily see are coincidentally in New York or otherwise outside of Asia.

Basically everything is just kind-of wrong.  Not catastrophically wrong, more irritatingly wrong.  And I am in a place in my life where I somehow think I have some kind of control over this kind of stuff, so I am blaming myself for it.

Oh man, sometimes I think I just suck at this.

What I realised is, I don’t even know what this is…

Cool it, Mouse, you are such a drama queen.

That’s my internal monologue talking.  In my internal monologue, I call myself “Mouse.”  I have since I was a tiny mouselet. I have absolutely no explanation for this.

Some days, lately, I just feel so…abnormal.  Like everything about me is wrong, and everything I am doing is wrong, and all of the thoughts and feelings I am having are simply not fit for human consumption.  Like if I were to share that I am so tired and wound-up about everything going on that I simply cannot control, people would be so horrified by what I think and feel, they would cast me out of polite society to spend my days in ignominy.

For instance, I’ve lately been so wound up that I have developed a furious aversion to shaved-off, penciled-in eyebrows.  These brows make me absolutely furious for no reason whatsoever.

What is really going on is that there is a whole lot of stuff happening in my life that is overwhelming and that I cannot control, so I’ve focused my anger on something utterly irrational and uncontrollable.  It’s something safe, and futile, and I can just be mad, without fear of judgment.  Except for maybe the judgment of people with penciled-in brows, but given my irrational ire, I don’t really care about them right now.

You see, it’s not safe to be mad at the things the actually matter — because they are consequential, and for the moment, I can’t really do anything about them.

It is, however, safe to be mad about…eyebrows.

baby brows

(via College Humor)

1 Comment

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  1. I cannot even handle the eyebrows drawn on babies-thing. They make me similarly irrationally upset. STOP THE MADNESS.

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