Why Must I Be Such An Angry Young Man?

So those of you who also follow me on the Facebook, probably noticed the teensy-weensy bit of agitation I displayed on Friday night. And, assuming you saw that, you undoubtedly were waiting all weekend for some sort of grandiose explanation for said display.

Well, I’m here to tell you.

You’re going to be disappointed.

Of course, if you’re a regular reader, then you should be used to disappointments here, but I digress…

No, unfortunately my little outburst was nothing more than some mild irritation based on the fact that I am, at times - for lack of a better description - a whiny bitch. Last week was just a long, stressful week for me and my display on Friday was the culmination of my bitchitude.

And, although my outburst in and of itself was much ado about nothing. I’m concerned that this belies a much bigger problem with me. I’m finding that I am gradually getting more and more irritable with each passing year. In fact, I feel like at the rate I’m currently progressing, I may very well bypass becoming the stereotypical “grumpy old man” and morph straight into the Devil incarnate by the time I hit my 60s.

What troubles me is that I’m not really sure when this decline started. For the longest time, I was the mellowest person I knew Aside from my random encounters with members of the opposite sex (and, honestly - who wouldn’t that drive crazy?) I was almost always happy, rarely got irritated and generally just tried to be a fun person to be around.

Now, I still try to be a fun guy - and usually feel like I do a decent job of that. As for the first two parts of that equation, though - that’s a different story. Be it at my job, behind the wheel of my car or just trying to deal with the daily minutiae of my life, I just find myself flying off the handle over the stupidest things anymore.

Granted, there are a lot more things to be stressed about now that I’m older - money, kids, our jobs, swine flu, whether or not that video of the woman and the donkey loaded a virus on my computer - these are all valid concerns for a man in his late 30s. And it’s quite troubling. I’m used to worrying about stupid things, like my fantasy football team, if that woman who just sent me a drink has an Adam’s Apple or just a growth on her throat, and, um… whether or not that video of the woman and the donkey loaded a virus on my computer.

Okay, so some things are still the same, but you get the point - there’s a lot more to worry about when you get older. And it sucks and I don’t like it and I’m just going to have to rant about it once in a while - and if that involves me dropping a few random F-bombs along the way, then so be it.

I supposed that one of these days I’ll have to learn how to deal with things better - lest I end up with a stress-related heart attack by my mid-40s. If not, I’m sure that there are a multitude of therapists I can go to, who will be more than happy to prescribe me something to help do it for me.