Wednesday, May 4, 2011

picking your battles

Constantly living in a world full of things and people that I am certain would be better if done my way has led me to live with a lot of disappointment. Click here. As I get older I have resolved to either accept the unwavering deficiencies of the people around me or try even harder at changing them.

Growing up the youngest of five has taught me life is all about picking your battles, like abiding by standard "shotgun" rules in the family minivan or who wields the remote control on Friday night. Under ideal circumstances, this battle's end usually involves me standing atop a pile of defeated corpses holding a remote control watching TGIF.

Drawing this at work probably disturbed some/all of my coworkers.
Years later, I apply this picking of battles to avoid a coronary at 34. There are plenty of things that I have given up on. I have learned that it's just easier to suck it up and do that which feels completely unnatural or just stop caring...

For instance, no matter how many dirty looks I give them, my coworkers will not stop wearing hideous, work inappropriate attire to the office. If you're going to break the dress code, at least do it right. Wearing flip flips, hoodies, and/or the same thing multiple times in one week: Wrong! Looking like you stole the top you are wearing from a stripper during a meth deal gone South: Right!

Speaking of crazy people, trying to have an intelligent conversation/debate with one is probably the most frustrating thing ever. I have learned that trying to steer them towards the road of reason veers you further off course and forces you to merge onto the Bat-$h!+ Crazy Interstate. Blatantly pointing out their crazy will only get you to Business Bat-$h!+ Crazy Interstate.

My best advice is to nod, smile, and if they initiate a tension breaking joke, laugh at it. Laugh at it like you're a stoned frat guy and they're Dane Cook and you've both traveled back to 2004.

Finally, my most practical realization and most important battle is of a personal nature.

No matter how tired, hungover, or sick you feel, wetting and/or crapping your pants (even though you are home alone and no one would ever know) is eventually going to be infinitely more work than pausing Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle, getting up off the couch, and walking to the bathroom.

Granted, I have never had this happen, I have, before, spent nearly a half hour contemplating it... Which turned out to be worse. During said 30 minute internal debate, my need to pee/poop did not go away and it lead to me scrambling down the hall in absolute terror.

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