Punch Drunk

I've had a rough couple of weeks and haven't been shy in the complaining department. Poor Peter gets the brunt of this moaning. It just seems like any time I've made plans lately, I've been thwarted.

If there's one thing I hate, it's when my plans change. I love my plans. I like things to go according to plans. Most of my day-dream time is spent creating potential plans. When I say I'm going to be at a certain place at a certain time, I want to be there at that time. Any manner of lateness or cancellation produces excessive levels of frustration and anxiety.

Peter's a good match for me in that he's incredibly laid back. He's the Great Dane to my loopy terrier. When I'm running around, yipping at anything that moves, he's stretched out and relaxing. He's able to just float along, taking things as they come. Unlike me, he doesn't feel any uncontrollable desire to bend the world to suit his will. I know he gets frustrated, watching me bang my head against brick walls when events force me to change my plans.

The following exchange sums up my problems perfectly:

Peter: B, you have to learn to roll with the punches.

Me: I'd rather punch the puncher.

Maybe I need to take up boxing. Then I'd learn how to avoid and minimise the punches and I'd have an outlet for my frustration and aggression. Of course, I shudder to think what would happen if something got in my way of going to boxing.