Sitting in a lawn chair with a glass of warm gin, watching tornado devastation on tv. Kind of seems familiar. Kind of seems like you.

This year there was no tree; no lights; no gifts; no family; no steamed cranberry pudding with hard sauce. What remained of our holiday spirit was the annual Christmas weed for the guys on the trash truck. You never want to piss them off.

You’ve done your market research and you’ve ended up with your great big pile of shit.

As a society, they exhibited a mania for naming, labeling and classification that subsumed the actuality of the thing itself.

Watching your neighbor doing Sunday yard work you can almost see the self-righteous thought bubbles about the value of hard work floating above his head, played in his dad’s voice.

The personal quirks you’d hoped were endearing turn out to be profoundly irritating to the people around you.

The more complex the organism the more objectionable its putrefaction.

The Steiner-Rand hierarchy of acceptance
+3. Reverence
+2. Gratitude
+1. Acceptance
+0. Indifference
–1. Resignation
–2. Resentment
–3. Bitterness

What’s the problem?
No idea, really. It’s quite the mystery.
How does it manifest?
Microagressions, slamming drawers, muttering, occasionally striking oneself on the head with a crystal paperweight. The usual.
Does it leave a mark?
Only above the hairline.