A single sneeze is a relief, a series is aggravating. I will have a flash of anger at my body escaping my control. It ends with a long, loud single syllable swear (the words and language, usually excrement related, will vary and I have yet to identify the variables that affect this choice). I am frustrated. It is as-if my mind wants to complain that my body has a mind of its own.
I have the same problem with my computer and my phone. Which is a misleading statement, or what could be called a Freudian slip, because I am blaming them for my body’s independence.
For example, my mind has instructed my hand to click somewhere and it missed. I now have an error message. Add a little vanity, like a quiz where the program is keeping score, to my frustration and I am now having problems clicking on the right spot to dismiss the message. If I miss more than once, I will end up clicking on the button with a hatred that shocks me in the aftermath. I am lucky that this has yet to be the cause of a need for a new phone.
It’s cascading frustrations. Frustrated that my movements didn’t match my intentions, frustration that this has upset me, frustration that this is further disturbing my control, which disturbs my self-control and so on until I need to take breath and slow down. Queue the opening line of Simon and Garfunkel‘s The 59th Street Bridge Song and I break out of the cycle.
It all seems so irrational. And extreme. I know I am not alone. After all, there is a quote floating around (I couldn’t source it) about computers needing to be light enough to be thrown out of a window. It’s around because it resonates. Then again, I have never heard of anyone being injured by a flying computer.