Anger

AS many of you know, I occasionally stumble around my insulated world in an enraged stupor. Smashing items of value, cursing like one afflicted with Tourette's, beading sweat on my brow. Essentially making a fool of myself. My recent move has bolstered my lifelong attempt to quell this behavior: sunny skies, friendly co-citizens, a cushy job and an apparent end to the dark period of my academic career. Residual anger, in general, is now ventilated through exercise or gathered and dispersed in virtiolic packets reserved for The Man.

And yet triggers still exist. The father that I am gradually estranging from pesters me like I'm a child away at summer camp; prolonging his cowardly parenting strategies well into my quarter-life and in general being both counter-productive and self-pitying. I find that I only answer one out of his three calls, and that last one sends me into a glass-shattering fit.

The other trigger is a left-over task from my days as an academic engineer (see, although I'm employed as an engineer I work in a field that seldom leads to the blistering frustration of being hunched over equations that simply won't work or leafing through manuals arranged by retards). In the field of engineering (and my branch moreso than the others) it behooves you to attain what is called "professional licensure". This process is intended to make sure that the individuals that design the bridges you drive on, the buildings you work in, the water you drink and the landfill you throw your garbage in will not some day lead to your death. It's taken very seriously in the indusry and, in general, I have no problem with the concept.

However, what enrages me is the process of studying for phase I of the exam process. In October I will be taking an exam (and missing what will most likely prove to be a crucial day of my Fiction and Poetry Writing Classes) entitle "The Fundamentals of Engineering". It's not the most difficult exam ever developed (something like 70% pass it on the first try) and it's likely that if I can simply maintain my patience I will do fine. However, as I attempt to study it now I find that every single question falls into one or both of the following categories: "I will never use it" or "I have never learned it".
The issue leading to the first of these categories is that I work in a relatively new and niche industry that pulls none of it's operating principles from a textbook and applies very few of the "Fundamentals" of engineering save simple mathematics and an overall understanding of systems. The second category is aggravated by the fact that I graduated from a half-ass school that is on the verge of losing it's accreditation.
Beyond these two issues, studying for this mindfuck of an exam is further "enriched" by the fact that it's 90 degrees out and I have the choice between going kayaking, working on my novel, or relearning differential calculus. I must say my patience is running short.

Thus while I am happier in general out here I was naive to ever think that all of things I disliked in life would simply evaporate. And I understand now, more than ever, why I need to get back to school and get that second degree. And the third. And the fourth.

After this lament, though, I feel I do need to lend my anger some credit. Without my almost ridiculous lack of patience I would have accomplished a great deal less in my life than I have. My anger got me through school because I became so pissed with the rote tasks that what was at first simply my dissatisfaction turned into a fistfight that I refused to lose. In general, I have been able to turn what seems like useless rage into a tool for burning down obstacles and kicking in doors. The trick, I think, is to maintain that element of my volatility while somehow keeping it on simmer during the downtime. I need a way to increase the precision of this thing, and thereby reduce collateral damage.

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