The military has an alert system it calls DEFCON or defensive readiness condition. Most people mistakenly think that the highest and most dangerous level is DEFCON 5, and that is when the stuff is about to hit the fan. However, that is actually backwards. Five is the least serious level while one is the most serious---essentially a declaration that nuclear war is immanent. I don’t know about you but I have a similar alert system for my own countdown to personal Armageddon.
Irritation would be the equivalent to DEFCON 5. This is generally signaled to anyone paying attention by a tightness in the jaws and curled corners of the mouth as words are enunciated with precision in an even tone of voice and ending the statement with emphasis on the last word. This level of alert happens with some frequency but can almost always be observed anytime I have a mission to accomplish. This will signal everyone within five miles of me to line up and inquire into the nature, duration and reason for the mission thereby impeding the mission and potentially moving the alert level to Agitation.
The Agitation alert (DEFCON 4) includes all of the indicators of Irritation coupled with a withering glare meant to stun the agitant (not a word according to spell check which in and of itself is an agitant but the word is serviceable in this context none the less). Every moment in this level is likely to see increased volume levels with a slightly more malevolent hiss to the voice. On occasion I simply stalk away and the alert level begins to fall as the distance from the agitant is increased. However, some days I just want to fight.
The desire to fight of course leads to Pissed (DEFCON 3). Pissed removes any possibility of retreat and a potential decrease in alert status. Pissed manifests itself with a suddenness of movement and requires some object be forcibly slammed to a hard, preferable resonant surface, making a startling, explosive bang. Objects may be thrown but not always. The stance is erect and the deep drawing in of breath results in an expansion of the chest and the head and neck are tilted slightly back so that the glare can be directed downward and to the side. The withering glare is thus intensified to the level of death ray and there is usually a cessation of verbal expression as the brain begins to be slightly fogged.
Sick and Tired (DEFCON 2) begins with the declaration that I am “sick and tired” of the agitant. It should be noted that the agitant need not be an animate object and more times than not the inanimate objects of this world provoke this alert level. At this point a verbal barrage is immanent. It does not necessarily include profanity, but if it does, it is the garden variety type with no real art behind it. A great deal of pacing about accompanies the soliloquy as I enumerate all the wrongs I have had to endure and the complete injustice of the situation. The rising level of frustration is not stemmed by ANY kind words from anyone and certainly not my spouse. Any introduction of reason and logic into the situation by ANYONE only increases the rapidity at which Sick and Damned Tired (DEFCON 1) is reached.
Sick and Damned Tired is essentially the melting of a nuclear reactor. The chief indicator that this utterly destructive level has been reached is the maniacal, seething, lamentation “I am sick and damned tired of…”. It should also be noted here that depending on the level of despair, several appropriate expletives can be inserted into the phrase before tired . This is of course where the artistry that was lacking in Sick and Tired comes into play. The soliloquy devolves into mindless raving, volume increases at intervals to the level of shrill mad man. Objects are slammed, thrown and condemned to the nether regions. Dogs are kicked, cats are kicked, chickens are kicked, and eventually an immovable object is kicked shooting searing pain into my brain and leaving me crumpled in the dust a blubbering, incoherent, but utterly spent heaving lump.
I must admit I was somewhere between Sick and Tired and Sick and Damned Tired to day. A nut started me down the path of destruction. It was “A nut on the end of a bolt on the bottom of the mower.” It should have been a routine operation. I have done it many times before. However, the repair shop must have used some kind of nuclear adhesive when they put the blades back on this time. A special trip to Lowe’s, a gallon of Liquid Wrench and a broken ratchet along with some busted knuckles sent the hammer into the barn wall and launched the soliloquy of a thousand words, very few of which are repeatable. Tools were strewn about and my wife attempted kind words. Having reached Agitation in record time, she went back in the house.
I have come to the conclusion---again--- that this world is fraught with troubles and frustrations of all kinds. How could so much of this life meet with frustration at every point? And how can I be so felled by those frustrations if I were not indeed Fallen myself? One nut on one bolt. What ridiculous madness if this were really the way things are supposed to be.
This frustration highlights my brokenness and spurs my yearning for rest.
It calls me Home.
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