Angst, horrible angst

I'm not sure "angst" is the word for the caveman-like rage I've been feeling lately. I blame January and the end of official holidays. Or the guy who almost squashed me on the highway yesterday b/c he couldn't get into the empty next lane and allow me to merge peacefully. Or the coffee cup of hot milk that jumped out of my hand and all over the kitchen this morning, when I was already late for work.

Also, I blame certain aspects of my job, like the fact that I can't go through the goddamn line at the cafeteria salad bar without entertaining questions from people who don't know how to make appointments. The world is a hostile place in January. If ever there's a season when contentiousness hits an all-time high on a college campus, it has to be mid-winter.

Since I'm playing the blame game, I'll also mention the most recent anti-developments in the three-year non-relationship with a man I've not been dating. We've reached the point where talking about our feelings is no longer productive. We've beaten every last sorry cliche into the ground. Language barely even describes the situation, and it certainly can't change anything. This is the point where we could accomplish more by slamming each other's heads on rocks.

And of course I don't mean that, but I don't really feel like being cheered up, either. Despite my sense of civility, compassion, and "looking at things objectively," I'm still angry enough to feel as sad as I did in my teenage goth days. That's why I'm wearing all-black today, and the world can fuck off.