I wouldn’t be surprised if some oratorical
dynamo were to describe frustration as the
bursting anxiety that presents itself after realizing
your looney grandmother is off her restraining leash
in Walmart while on vacation from the psych-ward
and while waiting for her to appear, you’re slowly
loading your elephant tranquilizer with caution
until she enters your sights and you
see her eating out of a bag of cat food,
dropping into the spell of tranquility
that is generously donated by the dosed dart. Or
it could be getting an unacceptable,
completely infuriating Bingo board that’s
decimating your chances of winning a
legendary potato cup crafted by
Hephaestus himself on his fiery anvil in
Olympus. So you try to focus on the
enjoyment of the game but the withered
nursing home residents win every five
seconds and scream so loud that their
dentures tumble down their ancient body
like a slip-n-slide at a little kid’s end-of
-season soccer team party full of Kool-Aid
and a juke box blasting Kidz Bop. Maybe
frustration is when you send your dad
a pack of gum labeled with a quote that reads “My goal
this year is to lose 10 pounds. 15 to go” and instead
of taking it as a simple, harmless joke he takes it
to heart and begins a daily workout routine.
It could be waiting eighty-five minutes in
line at McDonald’s for a small milkshake only
to find out the machine is broken because the
new employee thought it was a prehistoric blender
that needed internal replacements similar to
a coffee filter and decided to snip the fuses.
Frustration is gyroscopes. Frustration is
intense confusion. Frustration is non-patience.
Frustration is your beloved significant
other. Frustration is frustrating.
And frustrating to the point
where you’re frustrated into enlightenment.
©chemline
C