can't even seem to stir energy for anger these days.

there's the tyrranical regime of bookending my days with alarm clocks and alcohol (note: the only night i didn't go out this week was the one when i ended up only setting one of my alarms so was half an hour late the next morning).

the middle bits are: grudging acceptance, boredom, anxiety, paranoia, bemused tolerance, bewilderment, engagement, wonder, occasional outbreaks of delight, all wrapped loosely in a fog of soft smiling aimlessness.

i miss anger. it gave me definition, fun, and a plausible reason to shake my fist and swear at people. it also was giving me wrinkles that i was looking forward to.

my very talented friend had his piece performed tonight. we had to sit through choral music and brass ensembles before they got to his stuff. i felt i was doing a very good job of not being childish (i usually find myself at some point in the evening watching the faces in the choir and giggling at singing expressions), until i noticed that someone behind me was, rather discreetly, blowing raspberries. i managed to only mentally giggle.

what sent me into a mild coughing fit during the interval was finding that it was not a small child sitting behind me, but a rather elderley gentleman.

the fine art of music criticism has just become a little less fine.